Under New Management
by Perspex13
Summary: Beckett returns to the precinct to find that things have changed more than expected. Set early in Season 4.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Under New Management

Rating: T

Timeline: Early Season 4

Summary: Beckett returns to the precinct to find that things have changed more than expected. Set early in Season 4.

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

A/N: This is the second of three stories I've been thinking about in the period immediately following Beckett's shooting at the end of Season 3. It's got some common elements than the first, though you'll see differences, too. But fair warning: this story is darker than PT. It's likely OOC, but the direction is consistent with some scenes we saw in Season 5's Hunt/Target. This goes AU during Rise, beginning with some dialog taken directly from there to get things started but diverging during that episode. Finally, as an AU, I'll be slightly adjusting the timing of a few canon developments to keep this story consistent.

* * *

"Yeah, well, two months of listening to crickets in my dad's cabin was driving me nuts," Beckett mugs for her teammates, thrilled to be unpacking her things at the precinct again even if she's still nervous about her return.

Her mood sours quickly, though, as the boys share the meager results of their fruitless investigation into her shooting. She knows they would've found a way to get a message to her if they'd made progress on her case while she was recuperating. Castle would've insisted on it, probably would've seized the on the opportunity to finally reach out to her.

That's the other thing that's really bothering her – Castle. She can't believe he actually listened to her, that he gave her the peace she didn't really want. Every day she picked up her phone, hoping to see a text. Every day she thought about calling him. But every day it became more difficult to take that step. She'd created the perfect trap for herself – each day's delay meant one more day for which she'd need to apologize or explain. She couldn't shoulder the weight on the first day and it's only grown heavier since then.

While she's been ruminating on her partner, Esposito's taken the conversation in that direction, wondering why Castle didn't share the details about the DNA sample collected from the sniper's weapon.

"Nothing happened," she hears herself say. "I just needed some time."

"What, and he left you alone for three months?" Espo follow up, seeming to seize on this as evidence of what he perceives as the writer's flighty nature.

"You guys, it's not his fault," she answers in an effort to avoid more trouble with her partner. "I told him I would call."

"Well, why didn't you?" Esposito asks in confusion. Beckett pauses in her efforts at the coffee machine, unwilling to get into this discussion with her team when she's still uncomfortable with her decisions.

"He was here with us, every day, working the case," Espo adds, trying to break into Beckett's reverie.

"Until the accident," Ryan adds mournfully.

That comment certainly earns all of Beckett's attention. "The accident?"

Ryan casts his partner an uneasy look. "You don't know about the accident?" he asks before quailing at Beckett's aggrieved look, since the answer's obvious. "It happened a couple weeks after you were discharged. He kept it quiet, didn't tell us until we called to see why he hadn't been in for a while."

"We thought he was keeping a low profile," Espo adds, nodding towards Gates' office and getting a grim nod from Ryan. "Which woulda been smart, if a little out of character for him."

"But he's okay, right?" Beckett asks, feeling a panic-induced knot in her gut. He should've called her, she thinks, knowing already that she bears the blame for this. But if he was so concerned with her privacy edict that he wouldn't reach out after being hurt, she must've laid the law down more fiercely than she thought.

"Not sure," Ryan answers with a pursed mouth. "He said he needed to drop out to attend to some rehab, but I'd expected him back by now. I'm sure he'll come back now that you're here," he finishes, though neither his tone nor his look are particularly optimistic.

Recognizing her look of concern, Esposito tries to come up with a solution. "Hey, Beckett," he calls out. "Why don't we all go visit him during lunch?" Ryan understands the play immediately and nods in agreement.

"Yeah, okay," Beckett replies, though it sounds like a bad idea. The first time she sees Castle after their summer apart should be private. But, she sighs, at least they won't meet at a crime scene like their reunion after last summer. With that grim thought, she girds for battle and goes to visit her new captain to get her gun and badge back.

* * *

"I want my gun," Beckett sulks, still stung by the reception with her new captain. The boys weren't kidding – the cloud of distrust and paranoia that wafted in with Gates from Internal Affairs seems to permeate the atmosphere of the bullpen.

Her moods drops further when she learns that she's got no files on her case to peruse, either. "Castle's got them," Ryan explains apologetically. "What were we supposed to do, leave them here so _Gates_ can find them?"

"The first thing she'd do is open an investigation on Montgomery," Espo adds.

Beckett has to nod at that wisdom, even if it stings. All roads point to Castle today and she'd be a fool to expect a warm reaction. Lunch is looking more daunting by the minute, especially with the boys in attendance.

Ryan steps away to take a call while Espo makes Beckett aware of how things have changed, and not for the better, under Gates. Had she not met the woman, Beckett would've suspected a joke. But it seems like jokes are likely to be in short supply around here under her reign. Especially until Castle returns.

"Hey," Ryan calls out. "We got a fresh one. 18th and Lex. You coming?" he asks of Beckett.

"No," she answers quietly. "I think I'm going to sit this one out."

Ryan looks confused but follows his partner's lead in heading out. As soon as they're gone, Beckett gathers her things and follows. If Gates is watching, she'll assume Beckett's hurrying to catch up to her team. But she has a different destination in mind.

She hasn't been back at the precinct long enough to get her cruiser, so Beckett's relegated to catching a cab towards SoHo. She feels the lack acutely as she steps out at Castle's building. Had she driven, she could've paused a few moments to gather her resolve before venturing forth to finally see her partner again. Instead, she's forced to march right in.

An unfamiliar face sits behind the security desk, which is yet another unexpected hurdle. Had it been Eduardo or Brian, she could've sauntered by with a wave. Instead, she'll need to check in. She hopes she's still on the precleared list – that way, if Castle's going to turn her away, he'll at least have to do it face-to-face.

"I'm Detective Beckett," she announces herself to the new security guard, flashing her badge and still feeling the lack of her weapon. "I should be on the pre-cleared list to visit Rick Castle."

"Rick Castle?" the man answers with thickly accented English. Beckett would try Russian, since he sounds Eastern European, but understanding the words doesn't seem to be the issue. "I am sorry, Detective, but there is no one in building by that name."

"He's on the top floor," she explains, expecting either the guard is too new to know all the residents or that Castle's going for some anonymity at home in case any fans track him to his building. "He might be listed under Rodgers, his original name."

But the security guard is already shaking his head while turning to a computer console. "No Castle or Rodgers on top floor – just Hughes. Neumans not yet moved in." Beckett's about to interject when the guard speaks again after tapping a few keys on the computer keyboard. "Ah, this explains," he says before opening a desk drawer and detaching a lurid orange post-it note from a block. "Mr. Castle move," he says while he writes on the note. "For detective," he says cheerily, "his new address."

Beckett receives the note with a smile. She doesn't feel happy, but it's clear the guard wasn't supposed to give out Castle's new address. So, one step closer to finding her partner, she thanks the guard and waves on her way out.

But she doesn't leave. There's something deeply disturbing about the idea of a Castle-free loft. The home was such an obvious extension of her partner's personality that she can't imagine him leaving it behind or someone else moving in. Given what's happened to him, either at her hand or that of an errant driver, she wouldn't be surprised if Castle's instead grown reclusive, secreting himself away in the loft. This theory seems confirmed when she does a web search on his 'new address.' It's not a residential address but instead the offices a silk-stocking law firm in a large office building on Broadway near City Hall.

It's the work of short minutes to defeat the lock of the alley egress from the stairwell. Happy her skills haven't diminished after months of rest, any pride Beckett felt at the quick entry (against which she'll need to warn Castle) evaporates by the time she reaches his floor, huffing and puffing and fighting the searing pains from her side and chest. Not the greatest way to approach Castle, but perhaps her wretched state will elicit a little sympathy.

Her hand reaches instinctually for her missing weapon as she treads down the hallway and sees his door ajar. On edge, she creeps close enough to nudge the door, anxious and fearful about what she'll find inside.

Her jaw drops and a quiet moan slips past her lips as she looks into the loft. It's gutted. Everything's gone – the bookshelf walls that housed the creative explosions that birthed Nikki and Rook; the kitchen that held so much warmth and familial love; probably even the room in which she sheltered and rebuilt her life after nearly falling victim to a madman's bomb. The only furniture is a makeshift plywood table held aloft by two sawhorses, at which two men with their backs to her pore over architectural plans.

He's gone, she realizes as she stumbles back to the stairwell, vision blurred by unshed tears. He's really gone.

* * *

"Eighteen million," Ryan sighs in awe. "Six weeks ago to Simon and Olivia Neuman," he confirms the sale of the loft and the the security guard's story.

"What about his place in the Hamptons?" Beckett asks, fearing the answer.

"Sold two weeks later," Ryan answers softly, recognizing his boss' fragility despite her typically no-nonsense approach. "Almost twenty million," he provides to Espo's low whistle, "to a corporate investment group."

Beckett absorbs this blow silently, though she probably doesn't recognize the droop in her posture. "The Old Haunt?"

Ryan slaps his head at the oversight, turning back to his computer and working through search screens. He's got the answer in less than two minutes, proving his acumen with financial records once again.

"It's on the market," he explains, eyes still focused on the screen. "Price wasn't listed in the ad, but according to this," he says while tapping a knuckle on his monitor screen, "sale is pending."

Beckett's nodding even as she picks up the phone on her desk and dials a number. Ryan and Esposito watch curiously, but she holds up a finger for quiet rather than explain.

"Hello," she says in an adenoidal voice as her calls goes through, "this is Dolores, Mr. Wallace's secretary. I was calling to confirm the details for the walk-through?" Grabbing a piece of paper, Beckett starts scribbling. "Yes," she answers after she finishes writing, "I've got it all. I'll be sure to pass this along to Mr. Wallace," she confirms while gracing the boys with a wily smile. "Thanks for your help."

"Who's Mr. Wallace?" Espo asks, still smiling at Beckett's maneuver.

"Who knows?" she answers with a shrug. "With a corporate transaction like this, there'll be a gaggle of attorneys involved on each side. Even if there isn't a Wallace on the roster, I was willing to bet they'd provide the information rather than risk offending someone who gets paid to argue."

"Nice," Espo approves with a chuckle. "So, when's the sale going down?"

"Wednesday at 3:00," she says, thinking about the next two days. "Now, let's solve Sonya Gilbert's case so we've got time for a field trip."

"You got it, boss," Ryan replies, happy to see Beckett moving back towards her assertive role. His partner agrees, based on his happy nod en route back to his desk. "But when we have a break," he adds in a low tone, "I think I might need to run a trace on someone's cell phone…"

* * *

Beckett slams the door to her apartment in frustration and embarrassment. Her foray to Castle's 'new address' had been a complete fiasco. After Ryan's trace indicated Castle's phone was at the same address provided by the security guard on Broome Street, Beckett wondered if he'd sub-let space within the law firm or taken out an office next door. So, in another attempt to see him in private before bringing the boys along, she'd decided to visit.

The security desk at the building was the first setback. Uncowed by her credentials, the guards insisted on calling the reception area of the law firm to announce Beckett's arrival. She'd almost bailed out at that point, interested in keeping her name off of any paperwork. But she suffered through, intent on figuring out where Castle was holed up.

Once she exited the elevator to which she'd been escorted, she found herself in the care of the law firm's receptionist. Lisa was pleasant and kind if not particularly helpful. She took Beckett to a small conference room overlooking the World Trade Center memorial, where Beckett spent 20 minutes trying not to recall those days while awaiting the arrival of someone who could answer her questions. Finally, the door opened to admit a middle-aged, nebbish attorney wearing a tweed coat with patches on the elbows.

Jacob Samuelson explained kindly but firmly that his law firm provided many services for companies and individuals. He would neither confirm nor deny any particular client in the absence of a warrant, which he assured Beckett she had no hope of obtaining. If she had reason to believe that someone's mail or other services were being handled by the firm, then the best advice he could offer was for her to send a letter to that person and await a response.

None of her usual interrogation tricks made the slightest dent in Samuelson's demeanor. To her irritation, she couldn't tell if that was because she's lost her touch during her recuperation or because he was used to dealing with officers. Whatever the reason, he easily rebuffed Beckett's attempts to extract information about Castle, ultimately leaving her stymied and fuming.

Now, in the comfort of her apartment, she regrets the trip. She learned nothing. And in all likelihood she announced her presence quite loudly. If Castle's intentionally avoiding her, he knows she's looking for him. And with his mysterious disappearance, she's running out of reasons to believe that his absence is anything but intentional.

She'd hate him for leaving her, and a small part of her probably does. But she knows where the blame for their lack of communication falls. Despite all odds, he honored her request for time, the days that turned into weeks that turned into months. There's little doubt about the origin of the silence between them.

So, releasing as much of her fear and frustration as she can manage, she slowly extracts her phone. Opening the contact she'd looked at many, many times over the summer but never called, she reverently presses the icon and raises the phone to her ear.

After four rings, her call diverts to voicemail. She sights, unsurprised but still disappointed.

"Hey, Castle, it's Beckett," she offers before cringing at her inane start. "It's been… too long. I waited too long. But I'm finally calling. Will you call me back? I'd like to talk. I…," she trails off, feeling exposed and out of sorts. "I've missed you," she whispers before disconnecting the call.

She drops the phone onto the couch and drifts around her apartment, lost in a fog of thoughts and memories. Late afternoon bleeds into evening without notice. Beckett's still lost in her thoughts, ignoring the signals from her body telling her eat and to rest, but habit finally overrides all else late that night. She's just managed to rise from the couch to see what sustenance might be lurking in her refrigerator when a ping from her phone recalls her attention.

She cautiously approaches her phone, trying to rein in her hopes in case it's a text from her father or Lanie. Carefully, Beckett lifts the phone and sees a text from an unknown number. Slowly, she presses the icon to open the message.

 **Hey, Beckett. It's good to hear from you. Meet me at the Haunt tomorrow at 3:30? You can bring the boys, but leave Mr. Wallace at the office. Castle.**


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

After filing the last of the paperwork for the Gilbert case, the team members manage to slip out of the precinct under Gates' watchful eye, headed for the Haunt in separate cars. It's a little later than planned – they'll still arrive by 3:30, but Beckett had hoped to get there a little ahead of schedule. Still, she'll see her partner soon and finally get to the bottom of what's going on with him and what he's learned about her case.

Even here Beckett's plan is thwarted. Had she arrived first, she'd have gone into the Haunt. But Fate smiled on Esposito instead, gracing him with a nearer parking spot. So the boys are waiting at the door when Beckett finally arrives, panting slightly from her brisk walk.

Entering the pub proves less heart-breaking than seeing the loft gutted. After all, the bar looks unchanged since their first visit here, back before Castle purchased it and saved the landmark from an ignominious death via corporate annexation. The memory makes Beckett wonder if TJ McChucklenuts has finally managed to purchase the Haunt after Castle frustrated their initial efforts.

As they make their way into the bar, the team sees a group of suits perched elbow-to-elbow around four tables that've been pushed together. Castle sits at the head of the tables, the only man in the group not wearing a tie. He looks tired, Beckett thinks, taking in his sallow tone, the bags under his eyes, and the droop in his shoulders. Still, she can't deny the bloom of warmth in her chest from finally seeing him again after their long summer apart.

Castle brightens as he sees the team, a spark alighting in his eyes as he focuses on Beckett.

"Ladies, gentlemen," he addresses the crowd at the table as he rises from his seat. "Please carry on. I'll be back to sign the final paperwork after I speak with the detectives downstairs."

With a nod of the head, Castle motions the team towards the stairs to the office, his interest in taking their conversation away from prying ears more than apparent. Harboring no love for attorneys themselves, the detectives are happy to repair to a more private location.

Entering the Haunt's office makes Beckett reconsider her assessment of the Haunt's sale. Like the loft, the office has been stripped of any trace of Castle, whatever small remnants that remain apparently contained in the tattered cardboard moving box on the desk. Risking a glance at the wall that held the secret door, she's not surprised to see that it's been covered with sheetrock and a new paint job, hiding the secret once again.

Following her line of sight, Castle huffs a laugh. "They can make me sell the Haunt," he admits as he lifts the box from the desk and sets it gently on the floor, "but they can't make me give up her secrets." Then, with a wave toward the couch and chair, he waits until the detectives take a seat before gingerly lowering himself into the desk chair. Beckett doesn't fail to notice his careful movements.

Now that they're here, Beckett's wondering how to start the conversation. Neither Ryan nor Esposito are offering any conversational gambits, but their presence inhibits Beckett's thoughts about outreach. She's still trying to figure out what to say when Castle relieves her of the responsibility.

"Thanks for coming," he says with an odd formality, "your timing was perfect. We're on a tight schedule and need to keep moving."

The boys look at each other with perched brows, leaving Beckett to follow up. "Schedule? What's going on, Castle?"

"I need to get back home tomorrow, get back to work," he replies with a tired sigh, setting his elbows on the desk and resting his forehead on his palms for a moment.

"Back home?" Beckett parrots again, growing annoyed at playing catch-up. "Where do you live – it's not at that law firm," she infers, causing Castle to lift his head and look at her with a small smile.

"And you can't be behind on your writing _already_ ," Ryan chimes in. "You just released a book!"

"Yeah," Esposito adds. "Even your ex-wife must be willing to give you a break after your accident."

Regretting her decision to include the boys in this meeting, Beckett casts them a fierce look. Instead of broadening Castle's smile, their comments caused it to disappear entirely. She's not sure if this is due to the reference to his accident or his ex-wife, but at least one of them was a misstep. Based on her look and their long experience together, Esposito and Ryan shift back in their seats to signal their understanding that Beckett's running point on this conversation going forward.

"I've got a new project," Castle answers, sounding formal and withdrawn again. "One that requires all of my attention."

"A new project…," Beckett repeats, thrown again by another change in Castle's long-standing routine. "So you're done with Nikki?" she asks, surprised that the changes she's already noted hadn't prepared her for the lancing pain that accompanies this news.

"I'm done with writing," he answers sorrowfully, "at least for a while."

"No!" Beckett reacts, startling not only Castle but Ryan and Espo as well. Blushing at her outburst, she forges ahead despite her embarrassment. "You can't stop writing, Castle. It doesn't have to be Nikki, but you need to write," she implores him, stopping short of confessing the significance of his books to her mother and, later, herself. "What could be more important than writing?"

Looking at her the way he used to, the way that made them both forget that anyone else was around, Castle raises his eyes and whispers his answer. "Your case."

"My case?" Beckett parrots again. "Why is that a problem? Come back to the precinct. Things are different under Gates, but you can still use your connection with the mayor. We can't do anything to lead Gates to Montgomery, but we can still run the case from there."

Castle slowly lowers his arms from the desk and draws himself up in his chair. Losing the droop in his shoulders, he leans forward and speaks with a quiet intensity. "I'm not just working your case, Beckett. I'm taking it over."

Silence. Each of the detectives stare at Castle and wonder if they've heard him correctly. Beckett recovers first.

"You just don't learn, do you?" she asks, volume increasing with each word. Without thought, she's up from the couch and stalking toward the desk. "It's _my_ case, Castle. _Mine_!"

" _No_ ," Castle replies just as fiercely as he rises from his seat and leans across the desk, "it's _not_. You've had more than ten years. Ten years!" he repeats, thumping his fist on the desk for emphasis. "I've made more progress on my own in the last month than you ever did."

While she'd hoped he'd made progress while she was away, hearing it like this – paraded out as an example of his success and her failure – fully and justifiably ignites Beckett's temper.

"You'll tell me every single thing you've learned," she threatens in a low voice, facing Castle down from across the desk. "And then you're gone. This is my case, Castle. I've got the scars to prove it," she growls, tapping on her chest to needlessly remind them all of her recent injuries.

"You want to talk about scars?" Castle replies in a low tone that holds as just as much dark promise and recollection as Beckett's. " _Fine_ ," he declares as he shrugs out of his jacket. Roughly undoing the buttons on his cuffs, his hands repeat the motion on the top two buttons on his chest before he nearly rips his shirt off over his head.

"Shit, Castle," Esposito interjects from his seat on the couch while Beckett gasps and Ryan groans. "Are those electrical burns?" he asks, recognizing the shiny scar patterns on Castle's abdomen.

"No," he answers Esposito with his eyes focused on Beckett, "they're reminders. So I wouldn't forget about my real scars while I was on my stomach," he says before slowly turning in place.

Beckett's surprised by the low keening sound until she realizes it's coming from her. The low moans from Ryan and Esposito provide a grim accompaniment. Angry red welts and ridged scars mar Castle's back, a haphazard, asymmetric latticework of pain and suffering carved into his flesh. Beckett chokes down the bile that rises in her throat as she surveys what is clearly not the remnants of an automobile accident.

" _Oh_ , _Castle_ ," Beckett whispers, reaching out toward him with the ire of their standoff forgotten. "What did they do to you?"

Turning back to face them, Castle takes a few quiet minutes to shrug back into his shirt before looking at Beckett. "Did you really think they'd just stop after you disappeared?"

The hand that had been stretching out toward her partner is pulled back, instead used to cover her mouth. She'd thought any danger from her situation would follow her – it's one of the reasons she left town and didn't share her destination with her colleagues. But she'd been so cut off, by proximity and by choice, that she didn't know what happened while she was away… She sits heavily on the edge of the couch, legs knocked from beneath her as she'd backed away from Castle in shock.

" _Five days_ ," Castle whispers as he lowers himself back into his chair after slowly tucking in his shirt. "Five days they had me. After the second night," he recalls, eyes gone hazy as he sifts through the memories, "they believed I didn't know anything about your case or where you were. After the third night," he continues, lost in recollection, "they believed no one was coming for me."

The boys look at each other guiltily for not having realized Caste was gone, not having checked up on him after his "car accident." Beckett, meanwhile, wonders what she would've done had she actually reached out to Castle during the summer and been unable to reach him.

"That's when things got really bad," Castle continues, voice growing even more grim. "They talked about crushing my hands or cutting off my fingers. They talked about taking my eyes. They talked about 'gelding' me. But _then_ ," he inflects, as if the preceding threats were trivial and they're only now getting to the real issue, "then they started talking about Alexis – what they'd do to her, what they'd like to do to her, what she'd beg them to do to her."

Even with unshed tears in her eyes, Beckett can see her partner well enough to note his paling color, his clammy skin. He's back in the moment, reliving his horror as his daughter – easily the most important person in his life – was threatened.

"Even after all your time with the NYPD, all the things you've seen, you wouldn't believe the horrible, depraved threats they dredged up," Castle promises as he lets his head fall. "They thought they'd broken me, then." Then, raising his head to look at each of them in turn, he lets his tone change to something more focused, more direct. "I let them think they'd broken me."

Castle pauses a few moments to let that thought sink in.

"None of you know me well enough to know what my girl means to me," he says challengingly, his eyes drifting back to Beckett to include her in this assertion. "They thought they'd break me by threatening her – break me then remake me into a nice informer for them. I guess they did reshape me," he considers with a shrug, thinking out loud. "I was supposed to be a collar for Beckett. But I'm _not_ a collar," he nearly growls. "I'm a noose."

"Castle," Beckett finally interjects, breaking into his soliloquy. "Don't do this – don't fall into this case. No one knows how deep this hole goes, what it can do to you, better than I do."

Castle swivels his head to take her in, thinking about her comment. Then, after a blowing out a large breath, he ignores her advice. "You're not exactly a credible voice for caution and restraint. I'm already doing this, Beckett, and I'll see it through to the end."

"You're in over your head," Beckett throws back, anger stoked again as his words make her recall their terrible fight back before Montgomery died. "You're doing exactly what you told me not to do," she points out resentfully. "You don't know what you're doing. Leave the real cases," she scorns, "to the real cops."

Oddly, her attack seems to invigorate him. Perhaps it's not so odd, she realizes upon reflection, recalling some their sparring and its effect on their cases. But Castle's fully engaged again, sitting forward to drive home his rebuttal.

"I'm better suited than anyone here to do this," he promises, sweeping his gaze across all three of them before landing, surprisingly, on Esposito. "Javi will explain."

" _Me_?" Esposito asks, pulling his head back and looking confused. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about," he replies gruffly, anxious to make his allegiances clear.

"Tell them about Orde Wingate," Castle continues, ignoring his reaction.

"Who?" Beckett and Ryan both reply. Getting nothing from Castle, they turn to Esposito, who's looking at the tagalong writer with fresh eyes.

" _Castle_ …," Esposito temporizes, worried about this dive into military history and what it might mean for the conversation.

"In Palestine," Castle forestalls him, "not India."

Uncomfortable with suddenly finding himself the center of attention, Esposito scrubs a hand through his hair to buy a little time to recall the details. Then, with a sigh, he starts his explanation while trying to think about what Castle's up to.

"You've heard of Lawrence of Arabia, right?" Espo begins. "He was the British military officer who's known for his work with the Arab Revolt. Wingate was his distant cousin. He was a big player in the fight against Japan in World War Two, so successful and eccentric that some people think he was assassinated," he continues, cutting Castle a look to see if this is a conspiracy theory to which he subscribes.

"Palestine," Castle reminds Espo, giving no other reaction.

"Fine," the detective huffs in reply. "Wingate cut his bones as an intelligence officer in Palestine in the mid-30s. He aligned himself with Jewish political leaders and came up with a military solution to the Arab raiding parties that were striking Jewish settlements. Until then, the settlements employed a stockade-enclosure defensive strategy. Wingate changed that. He trained troops of Jewish and British volunteers to create the Special Night Squads. The Squads adopted an offensive theory of defense, ambushing Arab raiding parties and backtracking their movements to wipe out anyone who provided aid or shelter to the raiders. It was an effective strategy that won him the DSO, but brutality claims from the severe collective punishments his Squads enforced on villagers led to his transfer back to Britain."

"Nice summary, Javi," Castle compliments. "You studied him in the Forces?"

"Yeah," Esposito replies. "Standard stuff. 'Specially the part about the brutality and backlash with the locals," he replies pointedly. "You plannin' on going off the reservation and ambushing some bad guys?"

"You've got it backwards," Castle replies equably, refusing to rise to Esposito's challenge. "I'm not Wingate. I'm _hunting_ Wingate." Noticing their looks of disbelief, he presses the point. "Whoever's responsible for Beckett's misery, he doesn't just target his opponent, he targets his opponents support. Exhibit A," he says, lifting an arm to point at his back with his thumb. "They knew where Beckett was, but they still took me and tried to beat her location out of me. Why? Because they thought I was someone she might turn to for help."

Though he spoke without rancor, Beckett feels his words like a slap. She can feel herself starting to lose control as she tries not to imagine what Castle did, what he thought, while he was being tortured. She wants to talk, wants to turn back the clock. But all she can do is focus on her breathing so she doesn't break down here in front of her own team – ending up with a medical discharge isn't going to help anyone.

"It's like that old Clint Eastwood movie," Ryan mumbles, clearly thinking along similar lines. " _Unforgiven_ , that's what it's called," he remembers and Beckett flinches again at the title. "What's he say? Something like 'anyone takes a shot at me and I'll kill him, his wife, all his friends, and then I'll burn his house to the ground.'"

"There's nothing left to burn," Castle replies with a sweeping gesture around the office. "The loft, the beach house, and now the Haunt – they're all gone. I've got nothing to target – no forward bases, no fixed assets, and no exposed family or friends who aren't in this room."

"What about Alexis?" Beckett nearly groans, imagining Castle's daughter as a younger version of herself, a young woman who very well might lose her parent and send her life sideways. "And Martha?"

With a large sigh, Castle rubs his forehead and sits back in his chair, again moving slowly in deference to his back. "Alexis is secreted away in a foreign boarding school under an assumed name," he explains, watching the detectives' eyes widen. "It's a place that caters to those requiring confidentiality and security," he assures them, "and she's got additional personal protection."

"Private Witness Protection," Esposito grunts, wondering about the options available to the wealthy. "With teeth."

"As for Mother," Castle continues after nodding at Esposito's summary, "she's… convalescing. In a private facility. Beckett's shooting and my injuries were just two of the shocks she received this summer."

Every time she thinks she's got a handle on her emotions and can reenter the conversation, Beckett hears another comment that knocks her back. Of course her shooting shook Martha – why wouldn't it? They might not be close, but Martha's a kind woman. Seeing a stranger gunned down would've affected her. But her son's friend and muse, someone who lived under the same roof? And then to have a front row seat following Castle's ordeal? She knows Martha's a strong woman, but that alone could break a mother. And yet from Castle's comments, it sounds like Martha endured other surprises, too.

"Castle," Ryan tries to interject, sounding reasonable. "You're not trained for this. Keep going and your redheads will suffer a loss they won't be able to survive. You _know_ what happens then. How many times have you been there when one of us has to notify the next of kin? Please don't do that to Alexis or Ms. R."

" _Don't_ ," Castle growls back in a fierce voice. "Don't try to play my family against me. I will do anything," he vows, his eyes piercing Ryan's, " _anything_ to protect my girl. As for training," he continues as his voice grows more tempered, "you're right. I don't have training. But I've got money and resolve. And I can use those two things to get what I need to protect my daughter. I've already got help," he chuckles to himself. "From a completely unexpected source."

"Castle, your 'help' is probably dirty!" Esposito chides. "They're probably setting you up for the person who's responsible for all this!"

For the first time in this conversation, Castle looks truly angry. "You seem to be laboring under a couple delusions, so let's make a few things clear. One," he says, lifting his finger, "I'm not asking for permission. Now you know what's going on. Keep your heads down and protect the people important to you. I'm doing this regardless. I'm doing it already."

"Castle…," Ryan tries to interject.

"Two," Castle rolls on, lifting another finger. "There isn't a 'person' who's responsible for this," he says while looking at Esposito to refute his claim. "Coonan. Montgomery. Raglan. McAllister. Lockwood. That's five. There were three holding me and none of them seemed like shot-callers. One person might've started this but there are far more involved. Although," he adds with a feral grin that looks out of place on his normally jovial face, "there are fewer now."

"Castle," Beckett finally returns to the conversational fray on this macabre note, "what did you do?"

"Nothing unwarranted and nothing within your jurisdiction," he answers cryptically. The three detectives exchange troubled looks, wondering darkly exactly how far Castle would go to protect his daughter.

"Castle, _please_ don't do this," Beckett implores. "Please listen to me. No one knows the cost of a crusade like this better than I do." Then, knowing she's losing him, that she needs to make this more personal, she reaches for a more personal plea. "I don't want to lose you. And I don't want to have to hunt you down and arrest you."

The notion of Beckett hunting him down tickles Castle in some unspecified way, based on his small smile when he replies. "The wheels are already turning. I've got four lines going and people in place. I'm not going to stop, not so long as there's any threat to Alexis."

"Four lines of investigation?" Beckett can't help but ask.

"And as for arresting me?" Castle continues, still smiling while ignoring her question. "It's happened once and won't happen again. What do you think I've done for the past three years?" he asks incredulously. "I've watched you, all of you, on case after case after case. You won't find my money, you won't find my allies, and you won't find me."

"So that's it?" Beckett fires back, accepting his challenge. "A life of crime for you, a life on the run?"

Castle actually chuckles, surveying the detectives. "I haven't done anything illegal," he answers with a secret smile as he rises from his spot from behind the desk, signaling the end of this meeting, "and I don't expect I will."

No, Beckett thinks, it can't end like this. She's got nothing – no insight into what Castle's doing, no idea where he is, no clue about his lines of investigation, no reason to arrest him to buy some time. And no partner. Time for extreme measures.

"I thought you loved me," she confesses to him as she ignores the shocked reactions from Ryan and Esposito.

"I do," Castle replies simply as he walks out from around the desk and picks up the cardboard box containing the last of his belongings from the Haunt. "I wish that was enough. I wish you felt the same way," he adds, trying unsuccessfully to sound unaffected. "I wish I didn't have to choose between my blissful ignorance at the precinct and taking steps to protect my daughter. But whatever I am – writer, consultant, son, partner, annoyance – I'm a father first. And I'll do anything and everything to protect my girl," he trails off, looking down at the box in his hands before raising his eyes to his former partner. "Whatever the cost."

With that bridge apparently burned, Castle twists his wrist and shakes his head when he realizes how long they've been down in the office. "It might not seem like it," he says as he shuffles the box into one arm so he can hold the door open with the other, "but it was good to see you all again. Whatever happens, please keep yourselves safe. _You_ ," he says to Beckett as she approaches, reaching out toward her before letting his hand fall back to the box, "especially."

"I'm not the one playing with fire," Beckett replies, stopping directly in front of Castle and prompting the boys to stutter-step in order to avoid crashing into her.

"It's my turn," he replies with a shrug, turning her charge with three simple words. "But for now, I need to get back upstairs."

"That anxious to sell this place?" Beckett asks as they walk up the stairs. "Or that anxious to ditch us to hang out with some lawyers?"

"They're not so bad," he replies with a shrug. "Certainly not the worst people I've met lately. And they serve a useful purpose."

"Charging you thousands of dollars an hour?" Ryan asks as they clear the stairs and come back into view of the assembled lawyers who scramble back into position at Castle's reappearance.

Castle spins to face them while continuing to walk backwards and cradling his box. "They do their jobs and they do them well. Especially their most important job."

"Keeping you out of jail?" Esposito asks as Castle drifts further away.

"No," Castle answers with a smile before checking his watch again, "providing me with a rock-solid alibi. Good day, detectives," he finishes with a wink before spinning on his heel and striding toward the head of the table where the sales documents and an attorney holding out a pen await his arrival.

* * *

A/N: So, two chapters to get us kicked off. They represent the sum total of my writing over the holidays and I post them as a way to commit to continuing this story. I'm hoping for weekly updates, though my work schedule for January looks grim. Trust that I'll post when I can and I won't leave this unfinished.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

"We're just _leaving_?" Esposito asks as the team steps out the doors of the Old Haunt, leaving Castle and his attorneys behind. "' _Rock-solid alibi_?' We need to know what he thinks he's doing."

"We arrest people for committing crimes, Espo," Beckett reminds him while riding her own wave of anger and frustration, "not for having alibis."

"Sure, but…," he trails off, waving ineffectually back towards the Haunt, "He's _doing_ something! Can't you just, I dunno – go in and bat your eyes at him or something?"

"Suggest that again and I'll knock you on your ass," she growls.

"But he loves you!" Esposito presses the point.

"And he finally admitted it!" Ryan adds, rallying to his partner's assistance.

"Which is not something either of you will _ever – mention – again_ ," she replies with menace, emphasizing her last three words with synchronized jabs to Esposito's sternum.

"Yeah," Espo replies, batting her hand away as if it were an annoying insect. "Because it was _such_ a big secret," he scoffs. "Seems to me we had a conversation about this same damn thing a year and a half ago."

"And I handled just as well this time around," Beckett admits with a sigh, dropping her head and pinching the bridge of her nose.

With her head lowered, she can't see the punch Ryan lands on his partner's shoulder. Their boss has only been back for a few days and she's already dealing with more stress than they could've imagined. This is the worst time to push her on a topic that hasn't gone well even when she's in peak form and his annoyed look conveys that message eloquently.

"How about…," Ryan starts to suggest before Beckett raises her head.

"Here's what we're gonna do," Beckett declares, dropping her hand and taking control of the situation. "We know he blocked up the secret exits from this place, right? Ryan, you're going to stay here and cover the door. I'll watch the side until Espo returns with his cruiser, then I'll get mine. Once I'm back," she says to Ryan, "you stay on foot, in case he heads for the subway instead of a vehicle. And while we wait," she adds forcefully, "I want everyone thinking about the 'four lines' of Castle's investigation. He might have a head start but we've got the advantage of numbers and experience."

The team breaks up, each of them wondering about the veracity of Beckett's last statement. It's not clear they outnumber Caste – he seemed pretty comfortable with his 'allies' and it's not like he tried to convince them to join his effort. And as for experience, he might not have any but there are people out there who do, people Castle's shadowed. He always said he 'knew a guy,' and it's likely that some of these mysterious 'guys' might have some skills.

These ruminations keep the team occupied until everyone's back in place. Only minutes after Beckett arrives in her cruiser, the door to the Haunt opens and disgorges the small army of attorneys. The teammates wonder if Castle's trying to hide amongst them or slip out a side door while they provide a diversion, but both theories are disproven immediately. Castle's the last one through the door. With some pomp and ceremony, he places his box of belongings on the ground and makes a production out of locking the door for the last time before turning to drop the keys into the palm of an anxious attorney. Then it's smiles and handshakes as the group disperses. As the way clears, Beckett sees the sign hanging on the Haunt's front door: _Under New Management_. No kidding, she thinks to herself as she recalls Castle's comments about taking over her investigation.

Oddly, Castle doesn't leave. He moves his box and stands beside the curb, watching the legal teams disperse. Beckett would guess he's awaiting his ride, except his car service is excellent and if Castle was expecting a ride, he'd be fidgeting or pacing or playing with his phone. Instead, he's standing so patiently she can hardly believe it's him.

Startled by the chirping of her cellphone, Beckett fumbles for it while keeping her eyes on Castle.

"It's Espo," he announces himself.

"And Ryan," his partner chimes in.

"What's going on?" Esposito asks. "He's just standing there."

"He's playing chicken," Beckett surmises. "He knows we're waiting to tail him," she infers with a laugh. "As if he can wait longer than we can."

"Hey!" Ryan interjects. "Did you see that? He looked right at Espo."

"And now he's looking at me," Beckett adds, making eye contact with Castle until he breaks it to check his watch again. What was he saying about being on a schedule?

Beckett's ruminations are broken by another incoming call. Lowering her phone, she feels a hand of ice grip her heart at the caller ID: _Montgomery_. Mentally kicking herself for not deleting his contact information from her phone, she cringes when she realizes it must be Gates who's calling her.

"Detective Beckett," she answers immediately, dropping her call with Esposito and Ryan without warning in favor of replying to her new captain as soon as possible.

"Detective," Gates' voice drips with disapproval. "Where are you right now?"

Closing her eyes and letting her head droop, Beckett realizes she's caught. Lifting her head again as she remembers to keep an eye on her former partner, Beckett scrambles for an answer. What comes to her, probably not helpfully, is the hoary old attorney's adage she'd heard many times while growing up _: why not start with the truth and see how that works_?

"My team was meeting with Richard Castle," she volunteers, since there's no prospect of Castle's return to the precinct. "We needed to make sure he hadn't retained any information from when he was a consultant." Not that they managed to even address this topic, she thinks bitterly.

"There's been a development. Your team _will_ be in my office in fifteen minutes," Gates replies crisply, "where we'll also refresh your recollections on standard protocols and chain-of-command." With that ominous warning, Gates before disconnecting the call.

It will be a small miracle if they return to the precinct in time and avoid further antagonizing their new captain. There's no chance of tailing Castle. Which is probably why he was waiting.

"Ryan," she sighs after redialing, "we'll be busted down to Traffic if we're not in Gates' office in fifteen minutes," she relays to his yelp. Lowering her phone, she turns her head to see him dashing to Esposito's cruiser. Castle's still standing in place, watching the frenetic departure.

As she curses the situation and pounds a fist on the steering wheel, Beckett puts her car in gear and pulls out. Convinced Castle would gloat about her blown surveillance, she's surprised one more time this afternoon. He slowly raises a hand, remaining stoic as he bids her farewell, remaining in place until he's no longer visible in the rear-view mirror.

* * *

"You're late," Gates says without looking up from the papers on her desk as the detectives puff into her office. "By three minutes."

The members of the team exchange incredulous looks, wondering how much career damage those three minutes will cause.

"Still," Gates continues without looking up after waiting for the detectives to sit, "You couldn't have returned from the Downstate Correctional Facility in Fishkill in the amount of time I gave you, even by plane. So," she says, finally looking up to pin them with a glare. "Where did you 'meet Mr. Castle?'" she asks with an inflection that suggests she doesn't buy their story.

"At his office," Beckett offers, speaking for the group and anticipating her Captain would hardly like to hear they were at a pub in the middle of the afternoon.

"Were there any witnesses to this meeting?" Gates presses, making Beckett feel uncomfortably grateful that Castle's 'rock-solid alibi' might shelter her team, too.

"Yes, sir," Beckett replies coolly, barely remembering Gates' preferred honorific. "About ten attorneys, all of whom noted our entrance and disruption of their meeting."

"Convenient," Gates replies. "And why was legal counsel involved?"

"Castle was completing the sale of his establishment, a place he purchased following a case last year," Beckett replies evenly while ignoring Gates' insinuation, "so we visited during the closing."

"I see," Gates replies with regal disdain, as if the answer was deficient in some way that doesn't warrant the effort to address. "And you were nowhere near the Downstate Facility?"

"No," Beckett answers again, curiosity stoked. "The GPS units in our cruisers will confirm. Why? What happened in Fishkill?"

"Does the name Luther Sands mean anything to you?" Gates asks, surveying them each in turn as if watching for visual signs of misrepresentation. Accepting their head shakes, she explains. "Sands was serving time for a triple homicide in Queens. Officers showed up for his transfer this afternoon. The orders were accessed from the secure Department of Corrections server. But shortly after Sands was transferred, the orders disappeared. Had the desk sergeant's monitor not been in the frame of the security camera, we'd have no evidence that the orders ever existed."

"So, a jail break?" Beckett asks, trying to figure out what's got Gates so exercised. "Are we going to participate in the manhunt?"

"You won't take a hair's step toward the Sands investigation. If I even suspect you do, any of you," she says while glaring at all of them, "you'll all be on administrative leave before you can blink and sitting in an IA conference room after."

Noticing their confused looks, Gates slowly shifts the papers on her desk to uncover a manila folder. Opening it slowly, Gates makes a production of capturing their attention.

"Prior to the guilty verdict in his triple homicide," Gates explains, "Sands was housed in the city during his trial. In Rikers. In Administrative Segregation." Then, after a pregnant pause, Gates completes her recitation with great drama. "In the cell next to Hal Lockwood."

Beckett forces her face to remain impassive, but Gates turns to her nonetheless. "Your visits to Lockwood made an impression, Detective Beckett, and the staff there reached out once the potential connection to Sands became apparent. They also told me about Alan Bader."

When no one on her team replies, Beckett asks the obvious question to drive this interview along. The longer they sit in here, the more time she loses. Damn Castle – he must be behind this, or at least aware. 'Won't do anything illegal' my ass, she curses internally. Outwardly, she asks, "Who's Bader?"

"He's a guard at Rikers. Worked Ag Seg the same time Sands and Lockwood were incarcerated there," Gates replies tersely. "Bader didn't report for work today. DOC suspects Sands bribed or extorted Bader to break him out, since Bader was an insider."

Gates pauses again before dropping the boom. "But we have a different theory, don't we?"

"Sir?" Beckett replies, unwilling to provide any hint of insight of anything related to Lockwood to her new boss.

"Perhaps we were too anxious to consider this chapter closed after what happened to Lockwood and the events that followed," Gates offers in a somber voice. Then, pausing to consider her words, she seemingly changes gears. "You know how we in IA caught most dirty cops?" she asks. It's obviously a rhetorical question since none of the detectives would ever hazard a guess on such a dangerous topic. "By waiting. Stir the pot, make a small incursion, then wait to see the reaction. Because there's _always_ a reaction."

"We didn't wait after Lockwood," Gates sighs in frustration. "After what happened with your former captain, we were all anxious to move forward. So, we missed the reaction. But someone saw it. And now, I suspect, someone is cleaning up."

 _Or hunting_ , Beckett thinks to herself, avoiding the urge to look at Ryan or Esposito. How in the hell could Castle pull this off? A prison break and kidnapping? Sure, he'd said he was taking over her case, but she never suspected he'd be willing to go to such extremes or capable of pulling it off. They need to get out of Gates' office and figure out how to deal with what suddenly looks like a much more serious endeavor.

"So," Gates replies resolutely, "you're not to go anywhere near this case. As a precaution," Gates explains somewhat nastily, "I've spoken with a friend in the 22nd precinct. He's taking the case. I thought it better to remove the temptation than to subject your colleagues to what I'm sure would've been an effective effort to co-opt their investigation. Any objections?" she asks fiercely.

"No, sir," rumble the irate detectives en masse.

"Good," she replies with a slow nod of the head. "And just to make sure, we're going to talk about a few changes. First, none of you leave the building without checking out. No more little forays to pubs in the middle of the afternoon and no visits to the 22nd. Second," she continues, ignoring the murderous looks from Beckett's team, "as of now, any case materials related to Lockwood and the Beckett case – mother or daughter, is restricted. _Anyone_ who wants to see those files," she says imperiously while making it clear her edict includes present company, "has to go through me. Clear?"

"Crystal," Beckett nearly growls in response, while Esposito and Ryan wisely remain silent.

"Excellent," Gates nods again. "Dismissed."

Their colleagues in the bullpen quickly and ostentatiously return to work when the detectives stalk out of Gates' office, trying to pretend they weren't watching an early showdown between the new captain and an established homicide team. Noting the poorly-contained fury radiating from the detectives, their colleagues sigh with one more piece of evidence that life at the 12th is changing under the new regime, and not for the better.

Beckett's barely managed to sit at her desk before she rises again and prowls over to her teammates.

"Will you guys look into what's public about Castle's 'accident'? And see if you can think about his four lines of research," she adds.

"Where are you going?" Esposito asks. "'Cause if you're heading for the gym, I could vent some frustration, too. Or the firing range," he appends with a dangerous look. "I'd definitely like to shoot something right now."

"Castle's got everything now, doesn't he?" she asks in a low voice. "He already had the files for my case. If he knew he wasn't coming back, I bet he made copies of everything before he left, right?" she asks, watching the boys nod in return. "I'm gonna go see about how we can track him down," she says with a gleam in her eye. "He caught me off guard today. Our next meeting will be on _my_ terms."

"Don't forget to sign out," Ryan grumps.

* * *

"Well," Tory replies, knowing her answer won't be appreciated, "I think you're in trouble."

Beckett purses her mouth at the news. She'd explained Castle's phone set-up to Tory, the precinct's tech analyst. If Castle's cell is sitting at that forsaken law firm and guarded by a phalanx of attorneys like Samuelson, she was convinced Tory could help her find a way to figure out how the messages are getting to him. Though, as far as Tory knows, they're tracking some nameless suspect, not Castle. "Explain?"

"There's a small chance," Tory starts, "his phone isn't in the law firm. We're thinking about this two-dimensionally, but that's a tall building. It might be that the phone is at the address but on a different floor. We have some equipment you could use to track the signal to a specific floor, but you'd need free access to the building."

"And have to deal with every law firm and investment fund in the building?" Beckett asks. "That'll be fun," she grumps.

Tory nods in sympathy. "I thought that might be a problem. Plus, you have the relay issue." At Beckett's curious look, she explains. "In all likelihood, the phone's plugged into a relay of some kind, where the messages are converted and sent out via a different channel. The relay could be wired into the building, carried over another cell signal, or even satellite-enabled."

She should've known this wouldn't be easy. When she first called Castle two short days ago, she had no idea what'd happened while she was gone, no idea of the steps he's apparently taken on his quest. But now that she has a better idea of the enormity of his planning, covering his tracks seems obvious.

" _And_ ," Tory continues, looking nervous about piling on, "if your suspect is wealthy or cautious, he's probably got multiple relays. If that's the case, you'd have to track them in sequence. Without interrupting them – the smart move would be a serial chain that would break down as soon as any link was severed."

"Is there _any_ way you can think of that would allow me to trace this signal back to its source?" Beckett asks, trying to sound friendly despite her grim expectations.

"Only by talking or texting him," Tory answers with an apologetic shrug. "Maybe you could get him to give you a clue about his location?" She looks like she's about to offer more advice before she blushes radiantly and looks down.

"Tory?" Beckett asks, curious about whatever thought just occurred to the analyst. "What were you thinking? I'm desperate here – I'll listen to any ideas. Remember my old partner? I'm used to crazy suggestions." She'd meant the comment as a joke, a way to lighten the mood. She's surprised that thinking about some of his crazier suggestions makes her feel wistful, despite her current anger at their circumstances.

"Yeah, he'd just _love_ this idea," Tory mumbles while looking down. Then, with a sigh, she lifts her head and displays her rosy cheeks. "I was just thinking that you're a beautiful woman and you've said your suspect is a man. If a beautiful woman sent a picture," she says, her deepening blush revealing what kind of picture she had in mind, "we could check the geotagging information embedded in any pictures that might arrive in reply."

"Did I say any idea?" Beckett regrets, unaware that she's blushing, too. Sexting Castle in an effort to coax out information on his location? It's a bit too Mata Hari for her. But, it's a thought to tuck away for when she's desperate. Desperate to find him, she reminds herself as her blush spreads, not any other form of desperation.

"Thanks, Tory," Beckett praises. "I appreciate your thoughts and might find other avenues to pursue. If you think of anything else that might help, will you please let me know? Discreetly?"

With Tory's assurances sending her out the door, Beckett heads back to Homicide in the hopes that Ryan or Esposito have had better luck. When she tops the stairs and enters the bullpen, though, those thoughts are apparently dashed.

"What's with him?" she asks Ryan while nodding at Esposito, who looks heartbroken.

"Mister military history over there _just_ realized," Ryan answers, sounding like he finds his partner's reaction ridiculous, "if Castle was getting rid of all his 'fixed assets,' the Ferrari's probably gone."

"I'd assume it was one of the first things to go," Beckett answers with a nod. "It was designed to stand out and Castle seems to be doing very well at dropping below the radar."

"Yeah, but…," Esposito replies, trailing off.

"What, you thought he'd give it to you?" Beckett scoffs. "Like that wouldn't have been an enormous clue about what he was up to?"

"But he coulda just said he was tired of it," Espo dreams while Beckett and Ryan roll their eyes and shake their heads. "Just ' _Hey, Espo, I'm thinking about changing my style. You want to buy my car_?'" he says in a terrible impression of Castle's voice.

Beckett can't help but laugh, which is a welcome change today. "Espo, unless they're paying you a hell of a lot more than they're paying me, that's more than three years of your gross pay."

"Well," Esposito shrugs, his desire for the car making him hopeful to the point of ridiculousness, "you know, depreciation."

Giving up, Beckett writes off any meaningful contributions from Esposito and turns to his partner. "Did _you_ have any productive thoughts?"

"Castle started the car accident rumor," Ryan offers. "Not a surprise, right? There was some grumbling about cancelled book signings," he offers while pointing at his computer, which is on the webpage for one of Castle's fan sites. "Black Pawn didn't say anything, but listen to this." Ryan spins in his chair and moves the cursor on his screen, clicking on the triangle to start a video after advancing it more than a minute into the clip.

"… _Mr. Castle's spending some time with his family_ ," Paula Haas says from behind a podium, her adenoidal voice hardly instilling confidence among the fans at whatever bookstore had the unfortunate distinction of hosting Castle's disgruntled readers after he failed to show up. " _Any rumor about a car accident is exactly that – a rumor. This is his last summer with his daughter before she leaves for college, after which I'm *sure* he'll be spending even more time writing. Please make sure you fill out an information card and we'll invite you to a private event to make up for today's cancellation, as soon as his schedule allows_ …"

"The thing is," Ryan says as he clicks off the video clip, "I checked the newspapers and websites – there hadn't been any rumors about a car accident."

"The best way to start a rumor," Beckett nods along, again wondering about Castle's proficiency at creating a narrative, "is to deny its existence. Smart," she allows grudgingly.

"Right," Ryan agrees as Esposito finally wanders over, feeling left out but probably still lamenting the loss of the Ferrari. "Now that it's out there, the lack of evidence just seems like Castle covering something up. But, I bet people are looking."

Beckett nods, suspecting that loyal fans and others started digging as soon as Paula denied the car accident. And the more people look, the more legitimate the lie seems.

"Anyone find anything interesting?" she asks, mostly out of frustration.

Ryan gives a mirthless chuckle and turns back to his computer, displaying a different website. "Here's one that'll make Gates even happier. This guy claims that Castle got wasted and then wrapped his car around a pole. He explains the lack of any corroborating evidence as an NYPD cover-up aimed at protecting Castle to ensure continuing stories that cast the Department in a favorable light."

Shaking her head, Beckett can only ignore the conspiracy theorist's ramblings.

"Hey," Esposito interjects. "Go back to that first website. Isn't this the answer to finding Castle?"

"How so?" Beckett asks, trying to read the comments section over Ryan's shoulder.

"Homeboy here probably has a log-in for this site, right?" Esposito asks. Ryan tries, and fails, to look innocent. "So we just use these losers to find him for us. Post something like ' _My sister-in-law works at Presbyterian and she said Castle's car accident was fatal. They're just not telling us so they can have someone else write the Heat books_.' Then, if someone sees Castle, they'll write in to disprove the rumor."

"And in the meantime," Ryan adds, trying to sound dignified after being lumped in with the other 'losers,' "Black Pawn might need to schedule something public with Castle to prove he's still alive and well." Then, with a guilty look passing over his face, Ryan amends his comments. "Or, just alive, I guess."

"No," Beckett answers, shutting down this line of thought. "It might work, but it's too indiscriminate. Castle's gone low-profile to find the people behind our misery – staying out of our sight is just a bonus that gives him operational latitude," she admits with pursed lips. "We do something like this," she says while pointing at Ryan's screen again, "and we're likely to point our enemies right at him. It's the same reason we're not going to do anything to find Alexis or Martha."

Esposito doesn't look happy. Either he thought his idea was a good one or he thinks they could get to Castle before anyone else. But it's an untenable risk in Beckett's mind. So, she swallows her own discomfort and voices a theory of her own, letting Esposito think it stemmed from his idea.

"But the Black Pawn angle we can use," she admits with a sigh. "It just has to be subtle. I'll figure out a way to connect with Gina."

Two pairs or eyebrows skyrocket at this comment. The boys try to avoid looking at each other, but they can't quite manage it. They're fiercely trying to look serious, to not risk upsetting their boss any further, but it's clear each wants to say something inappropriate.

Esposito breaks first. "Five minutes," he bursts. "And I take the under," he says quickly, establishing a wager on how long a conversation between Gina and Beckett might last.

"Bastard," Ryan replies. "You want the under, it's one minute."

"Two."

"Deal." The men bump fists quickly before turning to face the music with their boss.

The best way to move forward is to ignore their juvenile antics, Beckett knows. And, with a quick glance at the clock, she can see that it's already past quitting time on a long, horrible day. She needs some quiet solitude to process everything she's heard and try to find a reasonable way forward. But before they break, she needs a little more information to fuel her ruminations.

"Did you two manage to come up with any ideas for what Castle's doing?"

"Castle said four tracks, right?" Ryan asks rhetorically to get them refocused. "We know two. What we heard about in there," he says with a nod toward Gates' office, "must be one of them, right? And we know he has the files from your shooting, where he was trying to backtrack the money trail from Montgomery, Raglan, and McCallister back in the day. He thought he had a line on the bank records when he had his… when he got hurt."

"Nothing we can do about Sands and Bader," Beckett nearly growls, casting an irritated look back at Gates' office. "But we can start pushing on the money trail. How far back do we need to go?"

"All the way," Ryan admits. "Castle's got everything that came back from the original search. I've got the search history, but I don't know what he sifted out of it."

"So that's where we'll start in the morning," she declares, surprising the boys by calling it quits for the evening. "I don't like playing catch-up, though."

"Beckett," Esposito cuts in, sounding troubled. "I think we know another track Castle's pursuing. One where you've got the time advantage." At her interested look, he lowers his voice and looks around quickly before offering a two-word suggestion. "Your boyfriend."

"My what?" Beckett asks, momentarily thrown. "I don't have a… _Oh_."

"If they took your partner," Esposito continues, "and beat the hell out of him, why wouldn't they take your boyfriend, too?"

"Because they know me?" Beckett replies. The boys look confused but her answer wasn't really for them, anyway. If her adversaries really know her, they'd know Josh couldn't offer any insight about her, not really. But Castle – he knows her. It's one of the things that's always terrified her, the insight he has into her despite her best efforts.

"Josh and I were done before I was discharged," Beckett admits. "Honestly, we'd been done before then, just hadn't admitted it. But after what happened in the hospital…"

"When he saved you?" Esposito interrupts.

"When he blamed Castle," Beckett corrects. "Yes, I heard about that. _Unforgiveable_."

The boys exchange quick glances, wondering about treading on the treacherous ground of Beckett's personal life. "But if we didn't know you'd ended things with Josh, maybe they didn't, either?" Ryan offers tentatively. "It's worth checking, right?"

"He's in Haiti, last I heard," Beckett answers. Or was it Africa?

"You sure 'bout that?" Esposito replies. "Would anyone around here notice he'd gone missing or would they just assume he was out of the country?"

"I'll call…," Beckett trails off, thinking. She doesn't want to talk to Josh. What's left to say? ' _Hi, just checking to make sure you're not being tortured due to our past association, but I don't really want to talk otherwise_ '? Yeah, that'd go over well. "I'll call when the _Medecins Sans Frontieres_ offices are open tomorrow, make sure he's reported for duty." She knows it's a weak reply. But their final end was so horrible, so hurtful, she really doesn't want to revisit that part of her life.

"That's pretty cold, Beckett," Esposito replies. "Even if he's history, that's cold."

"You're right," she sighs, letting her head fall. "If he's in trouble, it's no one's fault but mine."

"Are you talking about Josh or Castle?" Ryan ventures to ask, immediately earning a scowl from his partner. But Beckett ignores the jibe, reaching instead for her cellphone.

 **Is DMB one of your four tracks?** She texts, hitting 'send' before she can think better of it.

"There," she replies as if drained. "I asked Castle. If I've not heard from him by morning, I'll call the corporate offices. Now," she nearly groans under the weight of her stress, "it's been a perfectly terrible day and I've got a lot of thinking to do. I'm heading home. If that's still allowed," she adds spitefully, thinking again about her captain's new requirements.

Both Ryan and Esposito reply with vague encouragements to get some rest, sending her off with casual waves and good wishes. As she plods down the stairs, she can feel herself shutting down – her body isn't back to full strength yet and she certainly wasn't prepared for the long succession of shocks she received today. As much as she'd like to think this through, she needs to gather her strength to tackle this problem.

She's not really sure how she got home. She remembers sliding into her cruiser and pulling away from the precinct, but she doesn't remember the drive or the trek up to her apartment. Once the door is closed and locked behind her she lets autopilot take over again, her feet leading her not to her kitchen but instead to the bedroom. Choking down her medicine and doing the bare minimum to prepare, she barely has the energy to pull the covers over herself after collapsing into bed.

Beckett's so exhausted in mind, body, and spirit that she sleeps through her alarm for the first time in years. Waking in a panic, she looks to see she's got less than 45 minutes to get into the precinct. The commute alone will take most of that. Showing up late after yesterday's dressing-down would be a quick ticket to demotion. Or worse, she thinks, Captain Gates might consider her medically unfit to return. That thought has her in and out of the shower in record time as she changes while she's still on her way out the door.

At least the traffic deities take pity on her, clearing the way to leave a blissful three-minute buffer when Beckett flies into the precinct. As the elevator doors slide closed for the ride up to Homicide, she sighs in relief. She extracts the cell phone she nearly left at home and nearly drops it when she sees a text reply from the same unlisted number that directed her to the Haunt yesterday. Looks like Castle replied last night, shortly after she collapsed into bed. With some trepidation, she opens the text and feels her stomach drop even as the elevator rises.

 **Not anymore.**

* * *

A/N: I'm still hoping for weekly posts, but work life is getting out of hand for the next two weeks. I'll hope to keep pushing this along, but my apologies in advance for slow replies. Thank you for the PMs, reviews, follow, and favorites, which all provide great encouragement to keep pushing this story along!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

A/N: Couldn't manage to stop myself from forging ahead with the story. So, a quick couple chapters a little ahead of schedule. Not sure when I'll post next, hopefully soon.

* * *

 _Not anymore_? What in the hell does that mean?

"Beckett?" LT asks, finally making her realize that the elevator reached the Homicide floor and she'd just stood there, rooted to the spot and trying to figure out Castle's text. "You getting' out?"

"Yeah," she answers, casually slipping her phone into her pocket and trying to mask her upset. She's even further behind now. She really needed last night to wrap her head around all of the changes in her life and what she's going to do about them. It's not like she can count on having time here at the precinct to work things out, not under the fierce new regime.

That dour thought leads her toward her desk. The boys are in place already, also looking less than enthused about their jobs. Maybe she was a little rough on Castle for those times in the past where he pined for a new case. Given the mood around here, she'd kill for a good homicide.

Ryan's having a seizure or something, head twitching to the side. As she draws nearer, she can see he's tapping on his watch, too. Ah, the boys were concerned about her arrival. The new boss must've – yes, there she is, standing in the door to her office to make sure Beckett was here on time. Casting Gates a small smile, Beckett boots up her laptop. Her need for hot caffeine is nearly overwhelming, but she instead pulls up some paperwork, knowing Gates is watching her closely.

The paperwork's going nowhere, though. Her mind wanders back to Castle, back to his message. _Not anymore_ is frustratingly vague, leaving the door open to many possibilities, several of them dire. The enormity of what's going on is finally starting to sink in, finally starting to leak through the cracks in Beckett's defenses. Castle was _tortured_. There's no other word that describes what happened to him. And not only was it because of her, but she set the stage perfectly for them, created a situation where Castle was left without help and without hope of rescue.

His insight into her has scared her in the past – still scares her – but she knows Castle, too. She can see past the jovial exterior that distracts most people. She's seen him with his family and she's seen him during stressful cases. Even still, she didn't realize how strong he must be. To have survived his torture and abandonment is astounding. As horrid as this sounds, maybe it's good that the people who took him threatened Alexis. Maybe that provided the spark he needed to survive, to take the steps he has since then. She'd like to think that the threats against herself would've rallied him the same way, but it's hard to imagine after her disappearing act.

She misses him, she admits to herself as she lowers her head and closes her eyes. She misses him terribly. On the long drive back from the cabin, she wondered and worried about how to reconnect with her partner, how to move forward after yet another dismal summer apart. But she was confident they'd find a way. Now, it seems unimaginable. Still, even thinking about him provides a small measure of solace. She can almost picture him, sitting next to her with a playful smile. She can hear him, making a wicked double entendre. She can smell him, the mix of his cologne and the coffee he used to bring her…

"Once more, for old time's sake?" she hears him rumble next to her.

Bolting upright and letting her eyes fly open, she's shocked to see Castle standing next to her, placing a cup of coffee on her desk. He's dressed to kill (hopefully not literally) – for a fleeting moment she thinks of his beloved James Bond as she takes in his beautiful bespoke suit, sharp tie, and crisp white shirt. His hair's coiffed perfectly and even the bags under his eyes seem less pronounced.

" _Castle_?" she asks, wondering if she's dropped into a fugue state and nearly reaching out to touch him, diverting her hand to the coffee cup at the last moment. His smirk is real, though, as he's amused by her reaction. "What are you doing here?"

"Yeah, Castle," Esposito interrupts as he calls out from his desk. "Come to confess?"

"Of course not," Castle replies easily. "My mild confessions would make even the people down in Vice blush," he promises with an unbelievably sinful voice. "No, I'm here for a meeting," he explains as he lifts a hand to show his slim attaché case while turning. "She's in his old office?" he asks Beckett as he starts walking towards the captain's office.

Still shocked by his unexpected appearance, Beckett can only nod as Castle strides to Gates' doorway and gives a crisp knock before entering and closing the door behind him.

"What in the hell is he up to now?" Ryan asks, articulating the common question.

* * *

"Mr. Castle," Gates greets him primly as she rises from her desk. "Please, have a seat."

Castle steps confidently toward the seat to which the captain gestured, pausing long enough to unbutton his suitcoat before taking a seat. He's hardly settled before Gates starts up.

"I don't know why you requested this meeting, Mr. Castle, nor do I know what kind of circus Montgomery was running for the last few years, but if you think for one minute…"

She trails off as Castle stands, wondering if he's going to turn and leave her office. Instead, he opens his attaché case and extracts a folder, from which he plucks a legal document before setting it on Gates' desk and sitting down again.

"What's this?" Gates asks suspiciously. "A reference letter?"

"It's my resignation letter," Castle replies evenly. "If you check the paperwork in my file, you'll note that this letter meets the specifications established by my consulting contract. My affiliation with the NYPD is officially terminated. The NYPD bears no responsibility or association with me from this day forward."

"I see," Gates replies uncertainly, wondering if that's the full agenda for this meeting.

"No, you don't." Castle answers evenly. "Considering your meteoric rise through the ranks, I expected you to be more attuned to the issues relating to my consulting arrangement."

"Are you trying to antagonize me, Mr. Castle?" she asks, surprised by his direct challenge. "If this document is what you represent it to be, there's nothing to stop me from tossing you out of this building or into a Holding cell."

"Both have been done," Castle replies with a chuckle. "I'd have thought you'd want to carve your own path to differentiate yourself from your predecessor. And to answer your question," he continues, preempting her reply, "I'm not trying to antagonize you. I'm trying to get you to realize the logic behind the 'circus.'"

This time it's Gates who chuckles, and not in a particularly kind way. "Logic? What you call 'logic' I call 'cronyism.' 'Pandering.' 'The old boys club.'"

Gates seems annoyed that Castle's nodding along rather than looking offended at her assertions. But he meets her stony look with a smile.

"I'm sure it looks that way. And I'm sure that's largely my fault," he admits with a shrug. "I developed a certain personality, a reputation, to sell books. It's worked very well," he offers, stating fact while understanding that it might sound like bragging. "But that reputation doesn't serve the NYPD well," he admits, again causing Gates to look confused. "So, a question for you, Captain Gates: why was it allowed to happen?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why was I allowed to stay on as a consultant?" he clarifies. "My original agreement was for a few cases, then until the first Heat book. That was two years ago."

"My answer remains unchanged," Gates replies. "Patronage of some form or another."

"Yes, probably," Castle answers. "That's probably part of it. But it's not enough. If I was a distraction or a fool or a troublemaker, I'd be long gone," Castle continues to tell his story, painfully aware that this is the weakest part. Thankfully, Gates doesn't seem to have reviewed all of their case files yet, or his more questionable moves were edited.

"So, what's your secret, Mr. Castle?" Gates asks, sounding almost interested. "Blackmail?"

Castle laughs delightedly, starting to enjoy himself now. "No," he answers, still chuckling, "nothing so fun. I'm a conduit," he answers simply. "A friendly conduit."

"What does that mean?" Gates asks, perhaps not even realizing her tone has lost its frost.

"It means I have many friends, many acquaintances," he explains with an expansive wave. "I know many people, including people who are hard to find or hard to access. And through me, the NYPD can reach those people, too. We're not usually talking about suspects," he offers before shrugging, "though some of them are. We're really talking about doors I can open, opportunities for investigation that would otherwise be delayed or unavailable."

"So you're an influence peddler," Gates summarizes, unimpressed and ready to terminate this interview.

Instead, Castle looks bashful, almost shy. It's not a reaction she expected and it pulls her in for his shockingly simple line.

"I'm a friend," he offers with a shrug. After a few moments during which he gathers his thoughts, he tries to explain. "I've… I know the expectations created by my public persona. To be honest, I was perilously close to actually becoming that person," he emits in a tone of low confession. Then, his entire visage changes and his voice brightens. "The precinct changed me. It was the first place that couldn't care less who I was or what I did. You have no idea how much that challenged me, changed me…"

He trails off again, letting his message sink in. He doesn't look at the captain to drive his point home, but he thinks the story is starting to resonate with her.

"I wish I was here to argue with you, to beg, plead, or connive my way back into the precinct," he admits with a boyish shrug, getting a stifled smile in return. "I wish I could come back. But I need to step away from everything," he admits, back to looking forlorn. "My family is dealing with something difficult, something that deserves my full attention."

"You're no longer writing?" Gates asks, surprised. Internally, Castle smiles.

"No," he laments. "My focus needs to be elsewhere. But can I tell you something in confidence?" he asks as he leans forward in his chair, emphasizing the private nature of their discussion. Drawn in, Gates leans in, too, while she nods.

"Putting down my pen," Castle begins, "will be easier than leaving here."

Gates leans back in her chair, surprised by the confession. Castle leans back, too, even more surprised when he realizes that what he said was true. Ruefully, he gives a low chuckle that yet another one of his stories grew into something that showed him what he should've seen all along.

"So," Castle says abruptly, dispelling the air of quiet confidence, "I wish you well here. They're good people. Loud, unruly, a bit difficult to manage, but good people. I'm going to miss them."

"All of them?" Gates asks as she rises from her chair, sensing the end of their meeting. "Or just the ones you worked with in Homicide?"

"Okay," Castle replies with a smile as he, too, rises, "one more confession. You're a good interrogator," he says with a wink, actually pulling a chuckle out of Gates as he builds more of his story. "People might've _thought_ I was just working with Homicide, but when there wasn't a case, I wandered. I learned about Vice, White Collar, B &E, even some tech and forensic bits. It was fantastic for my writing," he reminisces, "but it only worked because the people here, your people, were good enough to be kind to me. I may have to leave," he says with regret as he buttons his suitcoat and lifts his case, "but please call if you find yourself in a situation where I can help. I owe them," he says with a gesture to the windows, not missing the slack-jawed looks from his former colleagues who are still gawping at Gates' apparent good humor, "and it'll be a welcome reminder what it was like to be here."

"Thank you, Mr. Castle," Gates replies, sounding genuinely impressed. "The NYPD doesn't have many friends. Good luck with your family," she offers as she reaches out for his hand. "If there's anything we can do to help," she offers, perhaps squeezing his hand a little sharply now, " _within_ ethical bounds, please let us know." Then, releasing his hand, she makes a confession of her own. "We'll hope to see you writing again soon."

Castle doesn't need to fake the smile that lights up his face at her parting words. Instead, he takes her up on her offer. "I do have one small request. Might I borrow my old partner? Just for a few minutes," he assures her. "But I'd like to say goodbye. And thank her," he adds with a wink, "for her patience."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

"They're coming out!" Ryan whispers, encouraging the team to pretend they weren't keenly interested in what transpired in Gates' office. His voice carries, though, and serves as a welcome reminder for other in the bullpen, too, most of whom were also surreptitiously watching the interview in growing disbelief.

"Detective Beckett," Gates calls out after shaking Castle's hand again, an occurrence not missed by a roomful of detectives, "a moment, please?"

Wondering what Castle's done and why the captain wants to see her, Beckett rises from her desk. She makes a mental note to hurt Espo later in return for his whispered " _busted_ " as she walked past. But as she approaches Castle and Gates, the latter starts to turn to return to her desk.

"Good luck, Mr. Castle," Gates offers in farewell, "and don't be a stranger."

Unbelievable, Beckett thinks as she falls into step beside Castle, who's started heading toward an empty conference room. ' _Don't be a stranger_ '?! She's seen Castle charm people over the years, but she never would've imagined him making any inroads with the cold empress of the 12th.

Despite her shock at this morning's development, she holds her tongue while they're within earshot of any colleagues. But as soon as he's closed the conference room behind them, her resolve crumbles.

"Castle," she asks, swallowing her other questions by reminding herself of what she'd been thinking before his unexpected arrival, "Are you okay?"

Castle cocks his head at the question, obviously having expected a different line of inquiry. "I'm fine."

"That's my line," Beckett replies while tapping on her scar, "and it's a lie when I say it, too. How are you really?"

"You probably know how I am," he replies, looking out the glass wall to see that he's still the focus of attention for several people in the bullpen, "better than anyone here. It hurts. Any gains from healing feel like they're lost to fatigue, pain, nightmares, and dark memories that sometimes…," he trails off with a shrug, which causes him a flinch of pain, which causes a huff as he inadvertently proves his point. "But I'll make it. I'm strong enough to do what I need to do."

"What about after?" she asks, trying to get him to internalize the cost of his reckless course.

"There is no after," he answers with a sigh. "You know that better than anyone else here, too. I'm just running for the finish line, Beckett. I can collapse once I breast the tape."

"Castle, no," Beckett rejects, shaking her head. "That's not what Alexis…"

"Look, Beckett," Castle interrupts, looking at his watch again. She's starting to hate that thing, since every time he looks at it seems to presage something bad. "We don't have much time. I've got an appointment and your cuddly new captain's watching closely," he offers with a smirk.

Smiling despite herself at his ridiculous characterization of Gates, Beckett watches as he lifts and reaches into his case. Her eyes widen as he extracts a small flat, square box, wrapped in glossy white paper and wrapped with a red, satin ribbon.

"Castle?"

"Don't get excited," he calms her while sounding wistful. "It's not the small box I once dreamed of giving you," he explains to Beckett's growing shock. "If anyone asks, it's a small gift of thanks for putting up with me at the precinct."

Shaking her head to jump-start her brain after his comment about a different kind of small box, she furrows her brows. "What is it really?"

"You asked me a question last night," Castle replies, seemingly ignoring her question. But she knows him well enough to know this story will wrap around to provide an explanation. "My side of that communication is secure, but I doubt yours is. That," he says while pointing at the gift, "is an encoded communication device. Typing your badge number twice will activate it, but then you'll have to come up with a new ten-digit code. Feel free to have Tory take a crack at it," he offers with a knowing smile, "but the unit will shut down and burn its memory core if the case is breached."

"And then we can communicate?" she asks, ignoring his prediction of seeking Tory's help.

"When I can," he nods. "My answers needn't be so circumspect."

Here we are, Beckett thinks, as she asks the question that started her day. "What did you mean, 'not anymore'?"

Castle pauses, looking at his watch again. With a sigh, he pulls out his cellphone (a new one she doesn't recognize) and dashes off a quick text, then looks at a seat but opts to remain standing.

"He's alive, if that's what you're worried about," he offers tonelessly. "And he should be fine now."

"Castle," Beckett begins, interested in some clarification but feeling like it's important to clarify their status first. "He and I, we…"

"I know, Beckett," Castle interrupts softly. "The DMB reference was a clever way of telling me."

Ridiculously, this cheers her. She used those initials because no one else would recognize them, but also because Castle would understand her use of them to signal that Josh wasn't around anymore. Despite its subtlety, Castle recognized the message.

"I knew before then," he offers, looking down and closing his eyes. "I overheard. When they thought I was unconscious."

His answer makes her queasy, forces her back to her earlier ruminations on how horrible his captivity must've been. Beaten, left for unconscious, and then subjected to a conversation about the man he so clearly despised.

"They decided they didn't need to take him to gather information," Castle continues, slowly opening his eyes and focusing on Beckett. "They sent someone else. Someone who could entice him to talk."

Someone to entice… _oh_.

Noting that she's understood his subtle reference for her, Castle finishes his explanation. "She was effective and he was bitter. If there's anything he knew that you wanted kept in confidence, I wouldn't count on it being private."

What could he know? She never confided in him, never shared her innermost thoughts. He didn't even know how her mother had died, Beckett recalls, until the terrible events at Montgomery's funeral. And he'd never met her father before then, or heard her stories, or…

"I need to go," Castle says as he rises and breaks Beckett from her introspections. She curses herself for wasting her time with Castle by thinking about the limitations of her relationship with Josh.

"Thank you," she offers and immediately feels terrible. Her gratitude stops Castle in his tracks, so unanticipated and unusual are her words. "Thank you for telling me. Thank you for talking to me," she continues, lifting her 'gift.' "And thank you for protecting me."

Her last comment makes him snort. "Protecting you? Had I actually done that, had I been fast enough to protect you, we wouldn't be here."

"They would've found a different way," she denies before getting back to her point. "But that's not what I was talking about. They couldn't seduce you. They couldn't break you. You protected me in unimaginable circumstances. _Thank you_ ," she repeats, loading the two meager words with as much emotion as she can.

Castle wavers in place and his façade slips. He looks so weary, so overwhelmed, that she can't help but reach out for him. He goes completely still when her hand grasps his forearm, all of his focus aimed at that small connection.

"Castle," she starts, emboldened by how well their conversation has gone so far. "Rick," she restarts, reaching for a more personal connection, "you never should've had to face that alone. And you don't need to now. Let me help."

Before she can say another word, Castle's head snaps up and he takes a large step back, severing their physical connection. He accepted her gratitude, but he won't accept her assistance.

"No," he offers curtly, bending to pick up his case.

"Why?" Beckett asks, her tone a blend of disappointment and frustration. "We've worked well together for years. We…"

"Because I don't trust you, Beckett," he offers directly, almost working to offend her to hide his moment of vulnerability. "We worked well on other cases, but not this one. You remember our fight before Montgomery died? I won't gamble Alexis' life on your tunnel vision."

Beckett's drawing herself up, taking a deep breath to prepare for a proper response when Castle steps around her to reach the door. With a hand on the knob, he turns back. Beckett expects another outburst, but she gets advice instead.

"You needed to know about Josh," he offers tightly. "What they did with him sounds like a preferred tactic for gathering intelligence and compromising people. Be careful when selecting the people with whom you'll share your confidences," he offers as he blushes slightly. "Professional or personal."

Before she can answer, Castle's pulled open the door and is moving toward the elevator. His progress is halted, however, by the group of detectives who were waiting to pay their regards.

"Is it true, Castle?" Karpowski asks. "You're outta here?"

Castle risks another glance at his watch, which makes Beckett smile. Perhaps her colleagues can disrupt his timetable, give her more time to convince him to slow down and include them in the case. Worried about sending him for the door, she joins the group quietly, moving to the periphery to watch the farewells.

"It's true," Castle confirms with a rueful chuckle, his façade back in place and all signs of his upset admirably hidden. "But I promised your new boss I'd leave without a fuss," he continues with a nod, using the specter of Gates' wrath to keep things sedate. "I've got to get back to my family, but maybe next time I'm in town we can have a proper goodbye party."

"Not at the Haunt," Esposito offers pointedly, though Castle ignores him.

A few people step forward for hugs or fist-bumps as Castle slowly sidles toward the elevator. He's almost secured his escape when LT appears around a corner. The big, laconic officer is moving faster than Beckett can ever recall seeing him move when not making a collar or on a basketball court. Word of Castle's departure has apparently spread and it looks like LT wanted to pay his respects.

"Gonna be too quiet around here without you, Castle," LT offers amiably.

What happens next occurs almost in slow-motion for Beckett. She can see the precise moment LT decides to forgo a fist bump, watches his hand raise and rear back before swinging forward to offer Castle a vigorous pat on the back.

The others miss it, but Beckett's team knows what happened to Castle and recognize his distress. LT's sign of affection leaves Castle wincing and pale, though he tries to shrug off his physical reaction by play-acting a tearful departure.

"Okay you guys," Beckett interjects loudly, diverting everyone's attention. "Castle needs to get to an appointment and we don't need any more trouble," she reminds them all with a nod toward Gates' office. "Let my team see him out. We'll remind him to throw a party some other time," she promises to murmurs of interest. "Not that he usually needs much of a prompt," she mugs, completing the distraction.

Her colleagues laugh and follow her lead, dispersing slowly with waves and good wishes. Castle gamely returns their sentiments, being careful not to move too suddenly. Then, his old team boxes him in, providing protection as they move to the elevator.

"Are you still ' _fine_ '?" Beckett asks with a perched brow, skipping the middle step by incorporating his expected answer.

"That's what the ladies say," Castle tries to banter through clenched teeth.

"Castle," Ryan interjects. "You need to see a doctor. Jenny's got a friend who can help, off the books…"

"Thanks, Kevin," Castle answers sincerely as he reaches out to press the elevator call button. "It'll get better. Besides," he says in a valiant effort to recapture some of his old joviality, "I need to go see an attorney. The pain just arrived a little earlier than I expected."

"Drafting your plea deal?" Esposito pokes, still trying to discern some connection from Castle to Sands and Bader.

"Just attending to some family business," Castle assures them as he casts a quick look at Beckett. "Then maybe I'll relax," he suggests with a long sigh, pausing while the elevator doors retract in front of him. Stepping aboard, he turns to look at them. "Yeah," he continues, liking the idea of relaxing. "I'll go fishing," he offers as the elevator doors start to slide shut. "Now that I have bait."

The three detectives are left looking at the closed door of the elevator, wondering about his parting words.

"Did he just…?" Esposito starts to ask before Beckett speaks over him, wary of what others might overhear.

"Yeah," she answers heavily. "Yeah, I think he did." So, it sounds like Sands and Bader weren't taken for what they know, but instead what someone else might fear they know. Sands was a convicted murderer, but Beckett can't help but wonder if Bader did anything to deserve his fate.

Turning to return to their desks before they give Gates another reason to find fault with them, the team is surprised to see Karpowski sitting on the edge of Beckett's desk.

"He's really gone?" she asks, still trying to wrap her head around the writer's departure. "He made Gates laugh – you can't let him leave now!"

"Not my call, Roz" Beckett replies, though she knows that's not quite right. Had things gone differently in the shared past, maybe they could've worked the case from right here.

"Yeah," Karpowski answers as she rolls her eyes and pushes off from her perch on Beckett's desk. "'Cause there's _nothing_ you coulda done to get him to stick around," she chuckles. "Just for the record – the next hot, rich, pain-in-the-ass who walks in the door? He's _my_ shadow."

Ryan and Esposito smirk as Roz moves off, though they take pains not to check Beckett's reaction. Probably best to let things settle down, at least until they get to leave for lunch or a new case. So, the team grudgingly turns to administrative work. Beckett, meanwhile, tries to sort out what she should be doing. Flipping over the form she's supposed to fill out, she jots down some notes that wouldn't mean much to an outsider but help her clarify her options:

 _1\. Convince him he needs my help_

 _2\. Take it back_

 _3\. Let it go_

She pauses, looking at the short list. Her eyes linger on the last option as she admits to herself that she's confounding different choices. With a vigorous slash, she strikes it out and clarifies.

 _1\. Convince him he needs my help_

 _2\. Take it back_

 _3\. Let him lead_

 _4. Everyone_ _stops_

Leaning back in her chair, Beckett releases a long sigh. She's got four options and that annoys her – four options to match Castle's four tracks of investigation. But the last option isn't really possible – even if she decided to let this case go, Castle won't stop, not with the threat to Alexis. So, with another slash of the pen, that option falls away.

The first option isn't available now, either – Castle made it pretty clear he doesn't trust her on this case. Another flick of her wrist removes that possibility, too, her frustration-laden vigor tearing the paper.

So, two options remain: run a parallel investigation in competition with Castle's, or sit back and watch what happens with his investigation?

Her ponderings are interrupted by the ringing of Esposito's cell phone. He takes the call, sticking a finger from his free hand in his ear and ducking his head to shelter from the ambient noise of the bullpen. Removing his finger to grab a post-it note, Esposito scribbles down an address, then disconnects the call.

"Dispatch?" Beckett asks hopefully, looking forward to finally getting to a case after her exceptionally stressful return to the precinct.

"No," Esposito answers. "That was Lewis. He owed me a favor, so I had him tail Castle."

"What?!" Beckett replies, noting Ryan doesn't appear surprised by this news. "Why? We know he was going to see his attorney."

But Espo's already shaking his head. "You weren't listening," he chastises her. "He said he was going to see ' _an_ attorney,' not ' _his_ attorney.' And he didn't go to that place by city hall."

Interest piqued, Beckett ignores her oversight on Castle's comment. "So, where did he go?"

"Some place in midtown," Esposito answers. Then, looking down at the post-it note, he reads off the address.

" _That son of a bitch_ ," Beckett growls while looking down long enough to vigorously circle number 2 on her list. Raising her head quickly, she catches the curious look between Ryan and Esposito as they wonder about her ferocious reaction. "That's the address of my dad's law firm."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Mr. Beckett stepped out for a meeting," the bored receptionist offers with false solicitousness. "Would you like his voicemail?"

"No, thank you," Beckett manages not to growl in reply before she disconnects her call. Of course he stepped out. Castle knows better than to visit with her father where he can be pulled out of the meeting. Or where an unexpected guest can join them. Well, too bad, Castle – I know exactly which café dad would pick for a meeting, she thinks as she reaches for her pocketbook.

"Detective Beckett," she hears Gates say from over her shoulder, slowly closing her eyes and clenching her teeth in frustration. After a deep, calming breath she turns to face her captain, who can apparently divine the intentions of her new charges.

"Your team is up," Gates says as she walks over to hand off a note-card with the address. "Examine the scene then report in on your next moves," she commands before turning to return to her office without awaiting a reply. So much for the hope of any residual goodwill following Castle's visit.

Beckett nearly howls in frustration. Half an hour ago she was longing for a case. Now, with Castle enjoying unfettered access to her father, she's thinking seriously about bailing on her job.

"Don't do it, Beckett," Esposito warns after sidling over with Ryan in tow. "You know she'd find out about it," he says with a nod to Gates' office. "We're on thin ice right now – better save the insubordination for when things are really bad."

There's too much wisdom in his comment to ignore, though she doesn't capitulate gracefully. The elevator button's never been pressed so savagely and she's sure she nearly shattered the window in her cruiser when she slammed the door. The traffic flow seems to be reclaiming this morning's kindness with interest, with road construction, two breakdowns, and a truck-into-foodcart collision slowing her drive to a crawl.

By the time she reaches the crime scene, Beckett's in a towering temper. As she stomps into the alley, Ryan and Esposito give her a quick look and decide to cut a wide berth, offering her the first approach.

"Ah, the lovely Detective Beckett," she hears as she turns into the loading bay where the body was found, "a pleasure to have you back," offers Sydney Perlmutter, the ME at today's scene. "Does this mean we have to suffer…"

It's too much. Too much to be reminded of how Castle was treated when he was here, how they let him be treated, how they paved the way for his solo ventures. On top of all the confusion and strife of today, it's just too much.

" _Don't_ ," Beckett snarls as she skips the body and stalks directly to the ME. "Don't you ever say another word about Castle. Not. One. Word. _Understand_?"

"I didn't… I mean…," Perlmutter gulps, unfamiliar with this treatment and wondering if he's finally pushed too far or if this is a behavioral change in Beckett following her shooting. "Okay."

"Talk to _them_ ," Beckett replies, hiking a thumb at the boys and striding away from Perlmutter, unwilling to deal with him again. Instead, she paces around the body, making observations about what looks like a simple mugging-gone-wrong. It looks unlikely this will be a weird one, which means she'll have nothing to distract her from the chaos of her personal, professional, and familial lives. Great.

Luckily, her prediction about the case proves to be true. Closed-circuit cameras installed to deter theft from the trucks that use the loading back captured footage of the mugging, including both perp and victim. The resolution is grainy, but they have enough to start a canvas with pictures rather than an artist's sketch. It's all rote, laborious investigation. And Beckett's barely tracking due to her growing distraction.

Lunch came and went without notice. It's not unusual to work through lunch, though they'd gotten out of the practice when Castle's moaning was most easily stopped by eating regular meals. But she'd expected to hear from her father. Whatever the reason for the visit, Castle wouldn't linger, if only to minimize the chance that she'd track him down.

She'd expected her father to contact her right after the meeting. Then, she thought maybe he'd want to step away from his office and contact her during lunch. Now she's starting to wonder if he's going to reach out to her at all and what it might mean if he doesn't.

Beckett grows increasingly agitated throughout the afternoon, replacing a skipped lunch with more and more caffeine. She's noticeably jittery and short-tempered, finally reaching the point where her team tries to intervene.

"Hey, Beckett," Esposito calls over in a jovial voice, trying to lift her spirits even as he dispenses unsolicited advice. "You're lookin' a little wired over there. Time to cut off the coffee, right?"

"Try to limit my caffeine," Beckett answers in a much less humorous tone, "and something'll _definitely_ get cut off."

They didn't try to intervene after that.

The worst deterrent to her concentration sits atop her desk, right next to her computer. She'd tried to put it away several times, but always ended up putting her gift from Castle back on her desk. She could reach out. All she needs to do is open that box (the box that's a stand-in for the one he dreamed of giving her, she marvels once again), type in her badge number, and ask him what's going on. She knows she doesn't have a good reason for avoiding that option, just pride and anger, but her stubbornness hasn't yet been sufficiently eroded by fear or curiosity to take that step.

Besides, she kind of likes the look of the box on her desk.

Her sigh of relief when she sees her father's name come up on an incoming cell call is nearly strong enough to propel her chair away from her desk. Clutching her phone, she's already up and moving toward a conference room to claim a little privacy when she answers.

"Dad?" she prompts, happy and worried and frustrated.

"Hi, Katie. You okay?"

"Fine," she replies automatically before thinking back to her conversation with Castle about that word. "I'm fine."

"Good to hear," her father replies, though he sounds a little doubtful. "I was calling to see if you might be up for dinner tonight?"

She's so happy, so thankful he reached out that she accedes immediately. "Of course."

"Claire's at 9:00?" he suggests. "It's a little late but you'll have time to get over there, even if you need to work late."

"I'll be there," she promises, "even if I have to sneak out or quit to make it on time."

* * *

"Hi, Katie," Jim rises to greet her as she arrives at their table. She's ten minutes early but still the last to arrive. Perhaps she's not the only one nervous about the topics on tonight's dinner agenda.

"Hi, dad," she replies while hugging him tight, using their greeting as a quick respite to gather her strength.

They take their seats quickly. Beckett's already wondering about how to start the conversation when her father gestures to her menu. "Let's order first," he suggests. "That way we won't be interrupted."

Beckett nods at this, grateful for her father's gentle guidance. She flips open her menu only long enough to select a pasta dish, looking for something warm, filling, and comforting. Not surprisingly, Jim adopts a similar approach. They order their meals when the waiter stops by for their drink orders, a subtle sign of their impatience.

The small talk preceding the arrival of their entrees is both excruciating and comforting. They both know they're procrastinating, but the chatter is also a good reminder that they're not alone. Shaken and trimmed, their family tree survives.

They both take a deep breath when the food arrives. The waiter takes offense, jumping to the conclusion that his guests feel like they need to fortify themselves before tucking into the food. He departs in a pique that goes unnoticed by father and daughter.

"So," Jim finally starts after a bit of his penne, "I'm not sure if you know about this, but…"

"Castle visited you today," Beckett interjects, her anxiety making her jumpy. She blushes at her father's perched eyebrow, but forges ahead. "I know he went to see you but I don't know why."

Jim nods slowly, then takes a few moments to sip from his ice water. "He came to apologize," he says slowly, watching a look of confused surprise spread across his daughter's face.

"He what?!"

"But we should start with my apology," Jim continues, ignoring her question.

Beckett places her fork on her plate. She can't taste the food anyway and the pretense of even a simple meal is a distraction. Hands clasped in her lap, she focuses her full attention on her father.

"I'm so proud of you, Bug," he says quietly, gently laying his own fork aside. "You're so strong, so beautiful," he praises while Beckett blushes and lowers her head, not sure she feels like either of those statements are true but holding them close to her heart nonetheless. "You turned out so well."

Taking another drink of water to fortify himself, Jim takes a deep breath and continues with a quivering voice. "I'm not sure I ever told you how happy I was, how grateful, that you let me back into your life."

"Dad," Beckett replies in a shaky voice herself, looking up and reaching across the table to clasp her father's hand. "You told me," she assures him. "I knew."

"What you don't know," he forges on after thankfully clasping her hand, "is how scared I am that I might fall again."

"You're not drinking again, are you?" Beckett asks immediately, terrified.

"No," Jim assures her, bringing his other hand to their clasp. "Not again. Never again," he promises her. But her wide-eyed stare haunts him, drives him to explain. "But drinking isn't the only thing that could make me lose you."

"Dad, you're really starting to scare me."

"I visited Rick," he explains heavily. "Back in the spring."

Perhaps its learned behavior from the precinct or perhaps it's an innate familial insight. Whatever the cause, Beckett remains silent so nothing will distract her father from explaining.

"I was worried," he admits nervously. "Nervous about how you were acting and nervous I'd lose you if I mentioned it to you."

She so desperately wants to fire off questions to drive the conversation forward that she needs to bite her lip to hold them back.

"So, I went to Rick's home," Jim confesses, looking down. "I asked him to get you to stop. Told him that I'd already lost my wife and didn't want to lose my daughter, too," he confesses, looking ashamed of himself. "It was a terrible burden to place on his shoulders."

" _Oh, dad_ ," Beckett groans, leaving her hands in his but dropping her head to shelter behind her hair. She'd said… _horrible_ things to Castle in their conversation when he asked her to step away from the investigation. The investigation that led to the death of her captain and nearly herself. The investigation that he's now leading himself.

"I'm sorry, Katie," her father replies, brokenhearted. "I was so worried and I… I did the wrong thing. And…," he trails off again, building his resolve to finish his confession. "And I blamed him for failing you."

Beckett can't speak around the lump in her throat but shakes her head in a wide arc, letting her flying hair indicate her rejection of his comment.

"It wasn't Castle's fault," Beckett defends in a low whisper. "It was never Castle's fault. If anyone's to blame," she works herself up for her own admission, "it's _me_."

They sit in silence, father and daughter both thinking about the events that happened this summer and what might've gone differently had Jim approached his daughter directly or if Beckett had reacted differently to Castle's attempt to pull her back.

"Rick said he's going away," Jim mentions to restart their discussion as he dabs at his eyes with a napkin, providing cover for his daughter to do the same. Castle's departure surprised him, both because he'd have expected to hear the news directly from his daughter and because the timing seems odd now that she's finally back in the city. When Beckett doesn't answer, he continues. "He wanted to see me before he left. To apologize," Jim continues, choking up again, "Apologize for not getting you to stop. For not protecting you at the funeral."

"Not his fault," Beckett repeats through her tears, voice heavy and heart heavier.

"That's what I tried to tell him, too," Jim commiserates. "I don't think he believed me."

No, he probably didn't, Beckett thinks. He flatly rejected the notion that he protected her, earlier today when they spoke at the precinct. It sounds like Castle's also carrying some misplaced guilt on his scarred shoulders. The image nearly makes her sob.

"Did he say anything else?" Beckett asks, wondering if their interview held any other terrible surprises.

"No," Jim replies, freeing a hand to lift his water in an effort to clear the lump in his throat. "He said he needed to leave town to tend to some family business, apologized, gave me a letter, then left. Our meeting might've taken fifteen minutes."

Which means she wouldn't have caught them even if she'd skipped her case and left the precinct (and maybe her job) to find them. But Beckett doesn't think about that until later. Right now, she's focused on a different portion of his reply. "A letter?"

Jim nods, then uses his free hand to reach into the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket. He extracts a dove gray envelope and sets in gently on the tablecloth, sliding it over until it bumps her hand. With a surprising quirk to his lips, Jim nods at the envelope and says "I assume he meant you."

She's confused by his comment until she turns the letter over and sees that it's addressed simply to _Beckett_ in Castle's distinctive hand.

Pulling her hands back, Beckett uses one to lift the letter and the other her unused table knife. The envelope is heavy in her hand – the paper fine and thirsty for ink, the envelope foil-lined – exactly what she'd expect from a writer. Setting the knife down after slitting open the envelope, she extracts the single-page letter nestled inside with a trembling hand.

 _Beckett,_

 _There was something your father and I needed to discuss, something I owed him. Please don't be angry with him for seeing me. And please don't worry that I told him anything that would cause trouble. Your father's a good man, Kate, one who clearly loves you dearly. I'm doing this because I'm a father, too. Trust that I won't interfere with the relationship the two of you share._

 _But, perhaps I can help without interfering?_

 _The time may come when it becomes necessary to protect your father. I don't know him well, but if he's like his daughter, he'll be too stubborn and prideful to simply retreat. If I'm wrong, then send him away when we near the end. If I'm right, though, I have an option for you._

 _My attorney Henry has a legal project that would benefit from your father's expertise. It's necessary, legitimate work that is self-contained and can be done remotely. Henry has my authorization to retain your father's firm, and your father in particular, to handle this project. There's a facility in which the documents are housed where your father can stay for the duration of the project, a facility that has no connection to me. There's room for you, too. I know you won't use it, but I wish you would._

 _Henry also has resources for you and your father. Take them, please, and use them well. I know you'll protect your father, Kate. I offer one alternative, though I'm sure you'll come up with others. Whatever you decide, please don't let him go to the cabin. If it was ever a refuge, it is no longer._

 _Be safe,_

 _Castle_

Beckett's efforts to choke back a sob are only partially successful as a whimper escapes. She wondered what Castle was doing with her father. She's not sure what she imagined, but she thought Castle was drawing her father into his scheme in some way. Instead, Castle was taking steps to protect Jim. Just as he did Alexis and Martha.

There's no doubt the letter is from Castle, either. The little doodle beneath his signature is proof. It's a ridiculous little squiggle, something he'd explained on one of their interminable stakeouts. It's what he remembers most about reading the _Hardy Boys_ while hiding a light beneath his bedsheets as a seven-year-old rebel: the Hardy father's habit of including a unique symbol beneath his signature in ordinary correspondence, so that if he was ever impersonated or taken hostage the lack of a symbol would alert his sons to his duress. And there, beneath the symbol, Henry's contact information.

Every time she wants to howl in frustration, to deride her partner, he does something like this. Something so impossibly sweet that she can't help but…

"Bad news, Bug?" Jim asks, interrupting his daughter's musings.

"No," she answers, wiping another errant tear with the back of her hand. "Just typical Castle," she answers, a small, wistful smile pulling at the corner of her lips.

Again they lapse into silence. Jim gives his daughter some time to think, since the letter she clasps so tightly in her hand clearly means something to her.

After a few moments, Beckett slowly refolds the letter and carefully slips it back into the envelope, pressing it into place before delicately centering the letter on the table before her and covering it with her hands. Then, after staring at the envelope, Beckett slowly raises her eyes to her father.

"You went to Castle, not Josh," she says, a statement rather than a question.

"I'd heard about Rick for years. I knew how deeply you cared about him," Jim explains to his daughter, watching her blush, "even if you were still figuring it out."

After waiting for his comment to hit home, Jim decides to push just a little bit. "Besides, after all the crazy things you told me Rick convinced you to do, I thought he might have a shot at getting you to slow down."

But his effort to tease backfires. He watches as his daughter lowers her head again, returning her gaze to the letter.

"I didn't listen," she admits quietly. "Obviously. But it's not just that I didn't listen. I didn't want to hear what he was saying, so I went on the offensive. I was terrible to him, dad," she confesses, closing her eyes to fight back the tears. "And then I tried to get him kicked out so he couldn't try again."

Now Jim looks guilty, too, feeling responsible for creating the situation that led to such harrowing times for his daughter and her partner. He's about to apologize again when Kate starts speaking again.

"I would've died," Beckett continues, missing her father's pallor grow pale as she sits with her eyes closed. "I would've died right there next to Montgomery if not for Castle. And how did I thank him?" she asks, voice growing wild. "I didn't. Instead, I got shot," she says bluntly, feeling the phantom piercing of a bullet yet again.

"Katie, stop," Jim encourages, growing concerned by his daughter's despondency.

"I got shot and I used that as an excuse," Beckett continues, ignoring her father. "I ran and I hid. Just like I always do," she continues in a voice of self-loathing as she remembers Castle's accusation from that terrible day. "And because I did, Castle got hurt. And now he's changed," she rambles, haring too close to the edge of what she's decided not to share with her father. "He's doing something foolish and dangerous and he's going to get himself killed. All because I wasn't strong enough," she finishes miserably.

"Katie, don't do this," Jim urges, voice quivering again. "Don't torture yourself…"

Beckett flinches at Jim's unknowingly loaded word, the one that instantly conjures memories of Castle's shredded back and haunted recitation of what happened to him.

"I _have_ to, dad," she replies. "I broke him. I took this beautiful, happy boy and I _broke_ him. Cheating ex-wives, excoriating reviewers, a father who never even visited – none of them touched him. But then I came along…," she trails off, swiping at another tear. "I have to torture myself, dad, because no one else knows how this feels."

"You're wrong, Katie," Jim answers immediately, the sorrow in his voice collecting her attention. "I ran and I hid," he repeats her words, sounding haunted. "And because I did, my daughter got hurt. She changed," he continues after stopping to bolster his faltering composure. "She started doing something dangerous and she almost got herself killed. _*I*_ almost got her killed, because I wasn't strong enough."

With each phrase he borrows, Beckett feels another part of her heart break. It's a terrible symmetry – Jim hiding in a bottle and leaving Kate to fend for herself, followed by Kate hiding in her mom's case and leaving Castle to fend for himself. And each situation created hideous, permanent scars and unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Beckett reaches for her father's hands again, desperate to connect. They share something horrible, but they also share hope. After all, Jim conquered his demons. It took years, but he fought his way back. Maybe she could do the same, she starts to think.

"I think you should see a counselor," Jim offers, breaking the fragile silence. "I know you won't want to, but I think it'll help. I think…"

"It's a good idea," Beckett interrupts, nearly smiling at her father's sigh of relief at her gentle response to his suggestion. "I had to see someone to get qualified to come back to the precinct. Maybe… maybe I should start seeing him again."

Jim nods, still a bit incredulous that his suggestion didn't cause an explosive reaction. "Maybe," he offers hesitantly, "I could help?"

"You already do, dad," Beckett replies, squeezing his hands. "But let me start on my own, okay? We can talk at our brunch meetings, but I think I've got some things to sort out."

Jim nods again but looks lighter. The waiter sees his opportunity to approach, their nearly untouched meals seeming to confirm his earlier thoughts. But he's mollified by the praise levied by both Becketts and the request take-out boxes. They wait quietly, using the time before their departure to think about what's been said tonight and what remains unspoken.

After a tearful farewell, they go to their separate homes, though Beckett – for the first time in many years – feels the pull to stay at her family home. She returns to her own apartment, though, with two missions in mind.

The first is simple. Without taking off her coat or storing her take-out, Beckett walks directly to her collection of material for her mother's case. There, pinned on top is the list she made at the precinct today. She pulls it free, taking it with her as she strides to her kitchen table. The list and the take-out box rest on the table, joined immediately by Castle's gift. The ribbon's looking a little worn, but that's because it's been in her pocket all day when not sitting in front of her. With everything going on, she's been unwilling to let the gift out of her reach.

Tossing her coat on the couch, Beckett sits after grabbing a fork and a pen. She uses the latter first, returning to her list to strike out her second option, "Take it back." That leaves only option 3 – "Let him lead." She stares at the words, wondering if she can do this. As she's struggling, though, she realizes something important, something she hadn't even noticed when she first made the list: letting him lead doesn't mean she can't help. She can run a parallel investigation, one that supplements rather than competes. She'll need to start it on the down low since he clearly doesn't trust her motives, she realizes with frustration, but perhaps she can make some ground on the investigation and offer it up to prove to him – prove to _both_ of them – that they can do this together. After all, they both have something at stake.

She feels good about her decision even if she's wary about being able to control herself on the investigation. Perhaps her counselor can help, she thinks in a rare burst of optimism. Perhaps getting some clarity in this portion of her life can help her tackle the other rogue elements, too.

That briefest flicker of hope warms her more than she thought possible. Her summer was dark and nightmarish; her return to the precinct, which she'd hoped would help restore her, has instead held one nasty surprise after another. Now, finally, she feels the nearly forgotten ray of hope and shelters it protectively.

Smiling, she pops the lid off her dinner and takes a large bite. Chewing happily, she turns her thoughts to her second task: reaching out to Castle. He's given her the means and the method. She needs only to figure out the message.

* * *

A/N: Another early chapter, but one offered with an apology. I likely won't have time to write this week with several professional deadlines on Friday. And, being in DC, life is likely to be very chaotic on Friday! So, I might not get to writing or replying to reviews until next weekend, but I'll be anxious to get to what's coming (chapter seven or eight, haven't decided yet).


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

After a quick conference over their desks, Ryan and Esposito sneak out of the precinct in abject defiance of Gates' new requirement about checking out. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

A quick call to LT gets them readmitted fifteen minutes later, sneaking in through the fire escape. Tory, who harbors an unknown but greatly-appreciated rebellious streak, did them the favor of disabling the alarm long enough to enable their return. Some of the bounty from this trip is directed her way in appreciation. And while she smiles in gratitude, it's fairly apparent that her payoff was in defying Gates' new regime.

Second thoughts start to plague Ryan and Esposito in the stairwell, though. They stop for a quick conference on the landing to make sure their efforts will be taken well. While they talk each other into staying the course, each is privately worried about the reception they might expect up on the Homicide floor. Still, they're committed.

Beckett, meanwhile, is oblivious to the departure of her teammates. She's been introspective, worrying about issues outside of the precinct. It's been four days of silence since sending a simple text to Castle. "Simple" at least in relation to the odd communication device he left for her, something that looks like the hidden love-child of a forbidden union between a cellphone and a modem. After spending far too long in trying to compose a message to him, she ultimately realized that they needed to talk, not text. So, she sent a short, declarative note: **Thank you for taking care of dad. Thank you for taking care of me. There's so much more to say – can we talk?**

He'd mentioned the device would allow him to reply to her 'when he could,' so perhaps it was foolish to expect an immediate response. But that only makes her think of what he might be doing – or what might've happened to him – that would prevent communication. Hardly reassuring.

Movement on her periphery finally catches Beckett's attention. She turns her head to see her boys, each looking more sheepish than the other, slowly advancing toward her desk. Ryan carefully places a tall coffee cup on her desk, shuffling aside to allow Esposito room to deliver the paper bag with her bear claw.

" _Guys_ …," she manages to emit, touched more than she would've imagined.

"You just…," Ryan starts to explain before fumbling. Then, steeling himself, he wades in. "You look like you need something to cheer you up. And if it can't be Castle, it can at least be what he'd usually provide to make you smile."

"But that's _it_ ," Esposito gruffs, clearly a little uncomfortable with the touchy-feeliness of their endeavor. "We ain't gonna do any of the other stuff Castle'd do to cheer you up. No dumb theories, no flirting, no staring…"

Beckett laughs, at much at his discomfort as in his characterization of Castle's previous antics. "Thanks, guys," she offers sincerely, hand already reaching for the coffee. "I have been a little down. Lots on my mind," she admits to knowing nods from both of them.

"Can we help?" Ryan asks after a quick, surreptitious look around the bullpen.

Removing the lid to her coffee, Beckett peers into its depths before looking up. "Yeah," she replies to their surprise, "you can. Talk at lunch?" she asks.

Esposito nods quickly and nudges Ryan toward their desks. Surprised at Beckett's willingness to talk, he wants to move on quickly to secure their unexpected gains. Ryan's on board, scooting into his desk and setting to paperwork with vigor to ensure there's no administrative reason to delay lunch.

* * *

" _This_ place?!" Esposito asks as Beckett deviates from the expected path and pulls open the door to a tiny empanada shop. There are only four tables, three of which are pushed up against the glass windowfront and one wedged near the door to the kitchen. "We've never eaten here before."

"Exactly," Beckett explains with a nod before striding to the corner table at the window. "I don't want any surprise visitors and I don't want anyone to overhear us." Then, after rifling through her pocketbook, she extends a ten-dollar bill. "Get me something?"

Esposito waves her off and sidles up to the counter with his partner, surveying their options from the laminated posterboards mounted on the wall above the ledge where food is passed through from the kitchen. Ryan shakes his head and leaves his culinary fate in his partner's hands, joining Beckett at the table.

Less than ten minutes later, Esposito ambles over with a red cafeteria tray laden with food. With his usual formality, he slides the tray into the middle of their small table before hooking his ankle around a nearby chair. Dropping into his seat, he waves at the pile of undescribed food and mutters "Dig in," while reaching in with both hands.

" _Nice_ ," Ryan comments, though he follows suit. Beckett demurely waits to see what'll be left at the bottom of the pile.

The next few minutes pass quietly in terms of words but loudly in terms of the gastronomic exclamations of the boys. Once they've settled down, Beckett decides to start talking.

"So, about Castle…," she beings, immediately diverting her colleagues' attention from their food.

"We goin' after him?" Esposito asks, looking ready for the charge.

"Is he hurt?" Ryan asks at the same time.

Pausing to let the questions stop, Beckett takes a sip of water to draw out the silence to make sure they're listening.

"We're not going after him," she says while raising a brow to Esposito, "and I don't think he's hurt, though I haven't heard from him since the day he was in the precinct." In response to their curious looks, she reaches into the pocket of her jacket and extracts the communications device Castle left behind. "I asked him to call me, but I haven't heard back yet."

"What the hell is that?" Esposito asks while reaching out for the device. Beckett's surprised by her urge to pull it out of range of his grasp. Instead, she wrestles with unaccustomed discomfort as she watches Esposito turn the device over in his hands. "Hello?" he says, talking to the device. He's about to give it a vigorous shake when Beckett launches to her feet and yanks it out of his hands.

"I'd thank you not to destroy the only way I have to communicate with my rogue partner," she growls before looking around quickly to make sure her words weren't overheard.

"He's prob'ly listening to us right now," Esposito answers, unaffected by her pique. "And I'd bet he's tracking that thing, too."

"Good," Beckett answers. "I hope you're right. Because we're not going after him. We're going to help him."

Ryan and Esposito share a silent, wide-eyed look before turning back to Beckett.

"What happened to ' _that son of a_ …,'" Ryan starts to ask before Beckett cuts him off.

"I reconsidered," Beckett interrupts peremptorily, looking stern before her cheeks redden and she shifted to abashed. "Besides, that was a terrible thing to say, especially about Martha," she admits with a shrug. "I misunderstood Castle, how far he's been pushed and how far he'll go. So, I can either sit back and hope he doesn't get killed or do something that'll help us both. You don't have to join me," she says, looking from one detective to the other, "but I hope you will."

"'Course we will," Ryan interjects quickly, in case his partner has any reservations.

"Why?" Esposito still asks, despite Ryan's efforts. Beckett nods, expecting this reply from her older teammate. "Why ' _help_?'"

"Because he's not going to stop anyway," Beckett answers honestly. "He can do things we can't and he seems to know what he's doing. Tell me this," she continues, spinning her head to focus on Ryan. "You've tried to find him, haven't you? Through financials, phone records, his websites, _something_ – have you found anything?"

Feeling uncomfortably like the subject of one of his boss' interrogations, Ryan gives up the efforts he thought had gone without notice.

"Nothing," he admits, not even bothering to deny that he'd looked. "And it's worse than you think. Remember what he told us about Alexis? Do you believe him – that he tucked her away in some foreign boarding school? I do," he offers immediately, waiting for nods from his colleagues. "But do you believe he'd send her alone and never visit? And he never mentioned where Martha was recuperating. There's nothing in the TSA records on _any_ of them, domestic or international. _Nothing_."

Beckett and Esposito share a look at this, wondering what it means. It sounds unlikely that Castle would've stayed within driving range. It would've been easy to get on a train without ID, but it's hard to imagine Grand Dame Martha Rodgers abiding a trip on Greyhound. A chartered plane sounds much more likely, especially if Castle found a way to get around passport control wherever he was going.

"Here's what I want to do," she offers to combat the pessimism Ryan's comment threatened to spawn. "I've got four things we can look into. Yeah," she admits with a shrug and a raised hand, "I know, sounds familiar. These aren't the same four as his, though. First stop," she explains, turning again to Ryan, "bank records on Raglan and company. Seems like Castle found something. He might get there first, but we still need to pull on that thread. Maybe we'll see something he didn't."

Esposito looks doubtful, but nods. Ryan shrugs. "I've got the files he started with," Ryan offers. "I've started to look but haven't found anything yet. I'll get you copies."

"Good," Beckett answers with a nod. "Second track: Castle's kidnapping. It couldn't have been easy to kidnap a famous author, hold him for five days, then turn him loose. Castle couldn't have made it to a hospital alone, right?" she asks briskly, trying to avoid thinking about how Castle must've looked stumbling into some emergency room, burned, bleeding, and feeling utterly alone. "We need details – when and how he was taken, where he was held, how he left, where he was treated – then we can backtrack the bastards who took him."

"I'll take that one," Esposito offers. "But don't you think Castle's already run this down?"

"Maybe," Beckett allows. "And if so, then we'll know we didn't miss anything. But if nothing else, this'll help us understand what we're dealing with."

"Not sure we need much more to know that we're up against pros," Esposito replies. "Gotta be, right? Your sniper slipped away. Fine, maybe it's not hard to find one guy who can pull off something like that. But Castle said three guys worked him over. And you know what? It ain't easy to inflict the amount of abuse we saw on Castle without killing him. Either they got lucky…"

"…or they've had practice," Beckett finishes the thought. "Yeah, it's starting to look that way, isn't it?" she asks with a heavy sigh.

"Hey, look on the bright side," Ryan offers, trying to fill Castle's role by pulling the team away from their maudlin thoughts. "It'd be great if we're dealing with mercs, right? Castle's running around with tens of millions after selling his places. If this comes down to spending, maybe Castle can write a check to make this go away."

"We tried that before," Beckett replies, shaking her head and looking haunted. "Didn't work so well, did it?"

"Don't know about that," Esposito answers fatalistically. "Coonan's dead, isn't he?"

"He was probably replaced before his body hit the floor," Beckett replies again.

"Sure, but after enough bodies go down," Esposito argues, "it gets harder and harder to find a new guy. And more expensive. You think that's what Castle's doing?"

"No," Beckett answers honestly, leaning in to whisper her darker thoughts. "I think he learned from Coonan. And from watching us in interrogation. No one's found Sands or Bader yet, right? I think Castle will find a way to get the information he needs."

"Castle?" Esposito asks incredulously, leaning back to emphasize his rejection of this idea.

"Yes, Castle," Beckett answers, certain. "For Alexis? He'd do it. Even if they hadn't tortured him, he'd do this, and more, to protect his daughter."

"That's not your next track, is it?" Ryan asks, sounding oddly protective. "We're not going looking for Alexis, are we? Because I'm not gonna…"

"No," Beckett assures him immediately. "We're not going to do anything to find her. A small part of me would like to know where she is so we can provide more protection, but I suspect Castle's already got her well-guarded and any effort on our part might backfire by leaving a trail to her. You think Castle's off the reservation now? Just imagine what he might do with all that time and money if anything actually happened to his girl."

Beckett lets that dire thought settle for a moment.

"Third track," she offers a few long moments later, "is on me. I know we can't investigate and I don't want to give Gates any reason to watch us, but I'll do some gentle poking on Sands and Bader. _Nothing official_ ," she interjects quickly to calm the looks of alarm on her teammates' faces, "just public searches I can run from private accounts outside of the precinct. I just don't want to be surprised if they turn up somewhere."

"Dead or alive?" Esposito offers with gallows humor. Beckett just shrugs.

"Fourth track," she continues, pausing for a big swallow before she hares down this path. "You called the fourth track, Espo."

But Esposito just knits his brow, not following.

"Josh," she admits. "I talked to Castle about this…"

"Bet he loved that," Ryan interjects. "He just couldn't hear enough about Josh while he was around," he offers facetiously.

"Yeah, I know," Beckett replies quietly, surprising the boys by not flaring up at the topic. "Anyway, they didn't take Josh. They didn't need to. They just sent someone who could get what they needed with pillowtalk rather than torture."

"Bet Castle wishes they woulda used that option on him!" Esposito erupts after a moment of stunned silence.

"Wouldn't have worked," Beckett offers with quiet confidence, wondering again about her ex-partner. "Even _they_ knew it wouldn't work. What's that tell you?" she asks rhetorically, hung up on how the man she was with sold her out but the man she abandoned stayed true under much harsher circumstances.

"A lot, actually," Ryan offers, surprising them all by answering. "Think about it. Castle's got a reputation, right? He hasn't really been that way, at least not since joining the precinct. But based on his reputation, you'd think sending a gorgeous woman…"

"Or three," Esposito offers and is completely ignored.

"… his way would be an easy way to get access, right?" Ryan asks, getting a vigorous nod from Espo and pursed lips from Beckett. "But they didn't. That suggests they know him, they know how he acts around us…," he trails off, growing wary of drawing out this line.

"They know how he feels about me," Beckett finishes with a small, frustrated nod. "Or how he felt," she offers pessimistically while recalling how forthright Castle's been in their few, short interactions lately. At least the boys have the good grace to look doubtful about her shift to the past-tense. "You're probably right. They've got intel on Castle. Probably on all of us."

"So, what's the story with Josh?" Esposito asks, getting them back on track. "You want us to track him down, find out what he spilled?" he offers before adopting a fiercer demeanor and cracking his knuckles. "Want us to plug the leak?"

"Nothing like that," Beckett offers. Curiously, Espo's big-brother offer to rough up Josh for his betrayal doesn't interest her at all. She just wants that bit of her history done and heaven knows Josh had rightful claim to the bitterness following their split. Best to just move on.

"Castle distracted me. I was so surprised by his comments about how they got to Josh that I didn't think," she confesses, still chagrined about what she'd figured out in the quiet solitude of the last few days. "I'd asked him if Josh was one of this lines of investigation and he'd answered 'not anymore.'"

"Ominous," Ryan interjects. "Just like he'd write it."

"I know, right?" Beckett replies with a huff and a smile. "But I didn't go back to those words after hearing about Josh. Which was stupid. I didn't think about what they meant. Josh isn't the focus anymore…"

"Because Castle's tracking the woman," Esposito finishes her thought, thinking about whoever seduced Josh. "'Least he's playing to his strengths. It'd be ironic if he…"

"That's not the way he'll handle it," Beckett interjects, not wanting to entertain thoughts in this direction. "He won't sleep with someone who's been with Josh."

"That might be the dumbest thing you've ever said," Esposito replies, looking at her like she's crazy. Ryan looks even more incredulous. "That's exactly what he wanted all last year!"

Blushing furiously, Beckett tries to drive the conversation to safer waters. " _Anyway_ , I'd appreciate it if one of you guys could look into that angle. I don't think someone like that would stick around with Josh afterward, but I think it's best if I'm not involved in those inquiries."

The partners look at each other in confusion, wondering exactly how they're supposed to run this down, especially if Davidson's off in some foreign country. But they shrug and nod, figuring they can work out the details later. Any further response is preempted by a short vibration from Beckett's communication device.

"Is that…?" Ryan starts to ask even as Beckett scoops up the device.

She's so anxious to read Castle's reply that she makes an error inserting her new security code, producing an ominous warning noise from the device.

"Paranoid much?" Esposito asks as he watches the multiple attempts at getting the ten-digit code right.

Beckett makes a shooing gesture, she finally gets it right on her third try. **Sorry, been out tracking something down. I'll be back in town in a few days, will stop by. Please be careful.**

She decides to pass the device around rather than read the text aloud. She's not sure what to make of it. She's disappointed there's not more to it, that he didn't acknowledge her gratitude. But she's happy to hear he'll be here soon. A face-to-face talk will be more difficult but it'll also be a better opportunity to connect with Castle. Maybe, if things go well, they can even start rebuilding something of a partnership.

"I'll keep an eye on the TSA lists," Ryan says, interrupting her thoughts. "Sounds like he's away somewhere. Maybe I can figure out how he's moving around."

Beckett shrugs, not really concerned with figuring out Castle's movements for the same reason she's unwilling to track down Alexis. Then, collecting the communication device, she slips it back into her pocket and prepares to leave.

"That's it?" Esposito asks, startling his teammates at the table. "What about Castle's other track? Even if you're right about these, there's still one left, right? And don't forget about Sands and Bader. He _took_ them!"

"We don't know that," Beckett replies weakly. After all, Castle clearly knew he needed an alibi for the disappearance of those two and he knew it in advance. So, even if he wasn't involved, he was privy to the plan.

"Bullshit," Esposito calls her out. "He was involved, maybe even planned it out. So," he says, leaning in and lowering his voice, "unless they're dead, that means space, right? Someplace to hold two guys, keep them contained, fed, the whole bit."

"Be ironic if Castle's using the place they held him," Ryan muses, enjoying some thoughts on the potential of poetic justice.

"Nah, I was thinking about the Haunt," Esposito admits. In response to their curious looks, he explains. "Just because he blocked the doors from his old office doesn't mean the secret rooms and passages don't exist. Maybe he's just got a different way to access them. Maybe he didn't really sell the Haunt."

This perks them up.

"You think it's all a shell game?" Ryan asks. "That he formed a different business group and sold the place to himself? _I_ can check that," he offers before turning a smile to his partner. "And _you_ can go poking around the sewer entrances to see about finding another access to the Haunt."

This starts some bickering between the partners, a welcome return to normal that helps restore some of Beckett's equanimity.

"Thank you," she offers sincerely, collecting their attention. "I appreciate your help. And I need you guys to know something," she offers quietly, drawing them close. "Seeing what Castle's doing made me realize some things about how I've handled my case."

"Legally?" Esposito suggests pointedly.

"No," she rejects immediately. "That's not what I was talking about but we all know I've bent the rules in pursuing mom's case. And I always thought I might need to do more than that," she offers to her shocked teammates. "But, I was actually talking about something different. When we talked to him at the Haunt, Castle made it clear he was forging ahead and without help and without permission. It sounded familiar," she offers with a shrug. "I even accused him of being hypocritical, after his comments on my choices."

The boys nod again, sharing a wary look as they recall the discomfort from that conversation.

"But you remember how he went to see my dad?" she asks, taking time to make eye contact with each of them. "He wasn't involving my dad in his project or pumping him for information. He was protecting him," she offers, looking abashed. "For everything that happened to him, Castle's still taking the time to protect people. It's something I never bothered doing. _Obviously_. If I had, he might not've been taken."

"Not your fault," Ryan interjects, looking sad himself. "Besides, you were gone. We were right here and didn't notice a thing."

"Still," she continues, not taking the out he's offered, "Castle was right. I've got tunnel vision when it comes to this case," she flinches. "So, I'm gonna try to follow his lead. Help where I can, and _get help_ to make sure I don't lose focus."

"Get help from…?" Esposito asks, shocked at the notion of Beckett reaching out for help.

"From someone else," Beckett answers vaguely, unwilling to talk about the resumption of her sessions with Dr. Burke. Esposito and Ryan nod at the characteristic evasion. "But I want you two to keep me honest. You see me falling again, call me on it, right?"

"Yeah, okay," Esposito offers while Ryan nods contemplatively. The deal is sealed with a three-way fist bump.

"Now, you guys better get back," she offers after a quick glance at her father's watch, sounding again like the team leader rather than a confidante.

"You're not coming with?" Esposito asks.

"One quick errand to run," Beckett answers with a sigh. When both men cast her doubtful glances, it's clear they're already wondering if she's haring off on her own, so Beckett provides a terse explanation.

"I'll probably regret this," she admits, "and Castle's probably already made arrangements. But he looked after dad, so I should make sure others are covered." Then, after standing, she gives the boys one last clue. "I'll let you know who wins your bet. You had the under, right, Espo?"

* * *

A/N: Hi all. My apologies - with longer stories, some chapters end up being about moving pieces into place. I'd hoped to get to Beckett's next meeting in this chapter which might've livened things up, but that's where we'll start with the next chapter. I'm mid-way through my deadlines and if I managed to post this week, I'm confident I can do it again. Plus. we're nearing the bit I'm looking forward to writing, so that'll speed me up, too. More soon, I hope.

And, as far as some of the PMs go, I'm still doing fine in DC. Interesting days, especially trying to explain things to the kids when I can't quite get a handle on them myself.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

A/N: Ahead of schedule! I had to split this update into two chapters to make it work. See the other A/N at the bottom of the next chapter.

* * *

"Hello, I'm Kate Beckett. I was hoping to meet with Gina Cowell," Beckett introduces herself politely to the young Black Pawn receptionist who looks like she's just stepped off the page of a fashion magazine. "Unless she's left for lunch?"

" _Lunch_?" the receptionist huffs. "You don't look like Ms. Cowell if you eat lunch," she replies dismissively while running her eyes over Beckett as if scanning for cellulite. "You have an appointment?"

"No," Beckett answers, dropping the polite act and opting to name-drop rather than flash her badge. "But I suspect she'll see me. Just tell her Nikki Heat is here."

Huffing again at the naïveté of this clueless visitor, the receptionist lifts a phone and pushes a single button. Her call goes through immediately, leaving the receptionist to whisper into the phone to prevent 'Nikki' from overhearing. Beckett contains her smile as she watches the receptionist's eyebrows slowly rise, the shock at someone making inroads with the formidable _Ms. Cowell_ sufficient even to overwhelm the effects of more than a few Botox treatments.

"Come with me, please," the young woman offers briskly as she stands and comes around the marble reception desk. Beckett notices the receptionist's careful to avoid contact – she must be embarrassed by being brusque with someone who knows Gina. Either that, Beckett thinks, or she's unwilling to make eye contact with the poor fool who's being marched to the gallows.

After holding the door to a small conference room, the receptionist disappears in a blink, apparently desperate to get some distance before Gina arrives. Beckett gives the room a quick scan: neat and studiously bland, obviously a room used for hosting outsiders and to obviate the need for a deeper penetration into the corporate workings of Black Pawn. Preferring to be on her feet when Gina arrives, Beckett steps over to the window, leaving her back to the door while she looks out the window and the vibrant life of New York City.

" _Unbelievable_ ," Beckett hears from behind her. Chagrined she didn't hear the door open, Beckett's still pleased she didn't visibly react to Gina's comment. Instead, she turns slowly to face Castle's ex-wife and, now that she thinks about it, ex-boss.

She looks just as Beckett imagined she would – fit, fashionably dressed, and impeccably coiffed. Her business suit is stylishly cut, professional yet undeniably feminine. Accented with gorgeous shoes and tasteful jewelry, she's a dream of a professional executive.

"Rick said you might visit," Gina offers as she steps to the head of the table and takes a seat, pointedly forgoing the greeting handshake ritual and instead tapping her lacquered nails on the tabletop. "I thought he was joking."

"I thought I should stop by," Beckett offers without preamble, pulling out the seat next to Gina and noticing her annoyed flinch at Beckett's close proximity. "Make sure you know…"

"You've got a hell of a lot of nerve," Gina interrupts, mouth pursed. "Is this some kind of guilt play or something?" she asks, lifting herself out of her chair and pacing over to the window, reversing their earlier positions. "First you steal my chance at reconciliation with my ex-husband. Then you steal my most profitable property. And now you just want to ' _stop by_ ' to chat?" Gina asks incredulously. "Well, thank you, Detective, but no thank you. I don't think you really want to hear what I have to say to you."

Beckett fights the urge to look at her watch and see how close the boys were on their guesses for how long this interview would last. She knew it wouldn't go especially well, but she thought they could at least pretend to be polite. And even if Gina's not interested in following that script, Beckett's going to try.

"Castle… Rick was hurt," she starts her explanation, only to be cut off by Gina again, this time with a grim laugh.

"Oh, I know he was hurt," she assures Beckett. "I didn't get a single, god-damned word out of him all summer. Our marriage hits the rocks and he's out partying a week later. You dump his ass and go hide God-knows-where and he mopes around for months," Gina offers in a quiet fury. "Thanks, Detective, that was a nice little comparison I didn't need."

"That's not what I was talking about," Beckett sidesteps. There is absolutely no way she's getting baited into a conversation about the summer or their relative importance to Castle. "He was injured…"

"I know," Gina interrupts again. "Trust me, I know. He and Stan visited," she answers with a moue of distaste. " _Always_ so nice to see them together."

"Stan?" Beckett asks, annoyed at the continual interruptions but still curious.

"Oh, that's right," Gina offers with false innocence. "You don't know Stan yet. Well, once you marry and drop Rick, you'll meet Stan. He's the one who'll make sure you don't get Rick's money or the beach house," she nearly growls, revealing more than a bit of her own personal history.

More topics Beckett needs to avoid – the assumption of an inevitable failed marriage with Castle and the fate of the beach house. "I thought his attorney's name was Henry," is the only thing she can come up with to divert the conversation.

"You really don't get it, do you?" Gina chides. "I thought your parents were attorneys. Rick's got a group of attorneys, obviously, all with different areas of expertise. And Stan's the _worst_."

While Beckett's surprised and a little uncomfortable Gina knows about her parents, the shock of hearing her reference them knocks her back on track. Stick to the script, she reminds herself. "So," she says, "Rick told you what happened?"

Gina laughs ruefully at the question. "Yeah, you could say that. He shows up out of the blue, sits down right in this damned conference room, and had Stan do his thing. Pictures. Physician notes. Medical records…," she recalls angrily while simulating the rapid fall of more and more documentation.

Beckett wonders at the reaction. Rather than sounding rueful about Castle's torture, Gina sounds upset with him. Surely she doesn't blame Castle for what happened?

"… All leading up to his contract," Gina finally ends. "With the relevant section oh-so-helpfully highlighted."

"Sorry," Beckett offers, though she's not feeling especially apologetic. "The relevant section?"

"The _Force Majeure_ clause!" Gina spits. "That bastard sat there and used his mangled back to invoke the clause of his Black Pawn contract that allows immediate termination."

"Gina," Beckett says sternly, trying to get the woman's attention while hiding her disappointment at the origin of her anger, "Castle was kidnapped, tortured, and nearly killed. His family was threatened. You can't honestly expect he'd adhere to his writing schedule under those circumstances," she offers. "That's _exactly_ why contracts have clauses like that."

Gina looks like she's been slapped before shaking her head. " _Perfect_ ," she grouses, "you sound just like him. You and Stan are going to get on famously," she offers acidly.

"Look, this isn't getting us anywhere," Beckett admits, anxious to address the reason she's here and get out. She's starting to wish Espo had won the bet, since it would've meant a conversation of two minutes or less. "I just came to warn you. The people who took Castle are still out there. They'll hurt whoever they need to get to him and that includes you."

"How noble of you," Gina scoffs. "But unnecessary. After Stan killed Nikki Heat, Rick sent him away and told me what was going on. There are plans in place if I need them," she says doubtfully, "as if I'd let anyone force me out of my office."

"Okay," Beckett says with relief, her conscience soothed by knowing that Gina's safety has been addressed. Standing, she reaches into a pocket and pulls out a business card, extending it to Gina. "If anything happens, or if you need help, please call."

Looking at the card as if it's a soiled handkerchief, Gina takes it by the corner and carefully drops it into the pocket of her fitted jacket. Beckett's sure it'll be forgotten or summarily discarded, but she's met her obligation.

"I'll see myself out," she offers, more than ready to get back to the precinct.

"Without this?" Gina asks, reaching into the breast pocket of her coat and withdrawing another dove gray envelope, one that matches the one her father presented days ago. "Like I said, I thought Rick was joking. But he made me promise to pass this along if you showed up."

Rather than hand the letter to her, Gina drops it on the tabletop on her way to the door. "I'll have someone escort you to the exit. Goodbye, Detective," she says as she leaves without looking back.

* * *

 _Beckett,_

 _You never lack courage. It's one of the many things I admire about you. Wisdom, though? From the safety of my current distance I can openly call that into question. Visiting Gina? Really? That's a bold move, Detective, one that's appreciated even though it's unnecessary._

 _I've left your father for last. I could say I did it that way because it was the right strategic decision, but that would be a convenient lie. Aside from you and the boys, that conversation will be the most difficult. Talking to Gina, on the other hand, was straightforward. She's not a fan of yours and I suspect the feeling's mutual, but she's not a bad person. I doubt she'll do what she should to protect herself, but I'm also confident her anger at me will convince any adversaries to leave her alone. After all, she might do their work for them and finish me off the next time she sees me._

 _You don't need to visit anyone else (even though imagining you sitting down with Meredith brings me great joy). Just take care of yourself and your father and everything else will work itself out._

 _Be safe,_

 _Castle_


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

After giving it yet another read, Beckett stuffs the letter Castle sent via Gina back into its envelope. Making sure no one's watching, she slips it back into her desk drawer where it resides with the letter delivered by her father. She looks at them when she misses Castle or when she needs to smile, both of which have happened frequently in the last few days. Gates was unimpressed by Beckett's late return after her visit with Gina, further lowering the temperature in the precinct. And then there was Castle's note. From the safety of her cruiser, Beckett had texted him after her meeting with Gina, again keeping her note brief. **I guess you can talk about wisdom, Castle, since you were smart enough to be far away when you teased me. I'm looking forward to seeing you. And not just to exact my revenge for your letter.**

Again, she'd invested too much time in composing her message. But she's happy with it – the text manages to straddle the line between honesty and playfulness, letting him know she read the note and returning the teasing he started there. All reinforced by another reference to speaking to him face-to-face.

Which is why his reply was disappointing. **Sorry, Beckett, return to NYC delayed until next week but I'll visit ASAP. Thanks for not hurting Gina, hoping you're not saving it for me. Stay safe.** At least he replied quickly this time. So it is that she's sitting at her desk on another Monday afternoon, plowing through yet another stack of administrative back-filing courtesy of Gates' reviews of last year's cases.

The sound of Esposito's head landing on his desk captures her attention.

"Would somebody _please_ kill someone?" he begs, voice muffled with his face pressed against his blotter. "Doing paperwork once sucks enough, but now we get to do it again for the same cases? Shoot me."

"It's not so bad," Ryan replies, trying to sound cheerful. "At least we get to clock off on time."

"Says the guy with a lady waiting at home," Esposito grouses, still not lifting his head.

"You could, too," Ryan replies, watching his partner lurch back in his chair in horror at the idea of being shackled into a stable relationship. "In theory," he finishes with a laugh.

Beckett chuckles at Espo's look of indignation as he gets annoyed by Ryan's suggestion that he couldn't find an actual committed relationship even though he just said that's not what he wants. Her quiet laugh ends in a squeak as the vibration from Castle's communication device in her pocket startles her.

Pulling the device out but obscuring it from view, she takes care to type in her code carefully. She puts her elbow on her desk and rests her forehead on her hand, using the position of fatigue to mask her review of his message.

 **Getting hungry? There's a private table for the team at DiChiara's at 6:00. Let me know if you're working late and I can find something else. Otherwise, see you soon.**

 _Finally_ , Beckett cheers. She accepts the invitation immediately, even before checking with Esposito and Ryan. Truth be told, she'd prefer a private meeting with Castle. But it sounds like he has something else in mind.

Beckett rises from her chair and wanders over to Gates' office. Seeing the captain alone, she knocks lightly in the doorframe. Gates doesn't look pleased at the interruption, but waves her approval to Beckett's request for her team to run down to the coffee shop. Her teammates had watched in surprise as she approached the captain, so it takes only a simple hand gesture to get them moving.

"You guys up for dinner?" she asks once they've cleared the precinct. She's probably being paranoid, but talking about the time and location of their dinner in the open bullpen seemed like a bad idea. "Castle's buying."

"Really?" Ryan asks, sounding excited. "He's in town? Damn, I didn't see anything in the TSA files. I'll check again."

"Later," Beckett suggests as they reach the shop. "Let's not draw too much attention to his arrival."

"Until after he's gone again?" Esposito asks as he holds the door open. "Gotta say, he's better at sneakin' around than I thought he'd be."

Beckett nods, opting not to reply with other patrons lingering nearby as they await delivery of their drinks. The boys follow her lead, leaving the commentary for the return trip.

"Listen, guys," Beckett restarts the conversation as they leave the shop with caffeine in hand. "Once you eat, would you mind clearing out early? I'd like some time with Castle."

"You gonna rough him up," Esposito asks with a raised brow, "or you gonna have a heart-to-heart," he says while cocking his head and batting his eyelashes.

"Shut up," Beckett laughs, punching him on the shoulder. "I just want to talk to my partner," she clarifies when her mild assault distracts neither of the detectives. It satisfies their curiosity, but only a bit. They keep shooting her odd glances for the rest of the afternoon, the upcoming meeting with Castle clearly providing the distraction from their paperwork Esposito had craved so desperately.

And his distraction is welcome, since Esposito was starting to hit too near the mark for Beckett's comfort. The last few days, and another visit to Dr. Burke, have helped her start to come to terms with some of the developments in her life. And not just what happened to her at Montgomery's funeral or to Castle during the summer, but stretching back to before her shooting. She's been recalling the thoughts she was wrestling with on their trip to LA or the case with the dirty bomb or the many other times she and Castle came so close, only to be pushed apart again. Things had been building between them, careening toward an inevitable union, until the disaster of her mother's case reached out and killed her captain and nearly killed Beckett and her partner.

But Castle taking ownership of the case had unexpected consequences. First, while he's clearly deeply involved in the case, he still took time to protect the people in his life. The reminder itself was humbling, as was Beckett's decision to share this insight with Esposito and Ryan. Second, with Castle shouldering the weight of the case, Beckett feels free to breathe for the first time since she was nineteen. It's an incredible feeling that shocked her to her core when she finally identified what it was two nights ago while lying in bed wide awake. She must trust her partner to run the case well, at least for a while, or she wouldn't feel such relief.

She wants that feeling to persist. She wants Castle to experience it. She wants them to share it. She wants, she's come to admit to herself, her partner. She wants him safe and back at her side where they can think about the possibility of exploring something new together.

The detectives clock out at 5:15, making a point of staying late in return for the time Gates allowed for their coffee run. She notices, too, to Beckett's private delight. Perhaps, inch-by-inch, they can start to make some inroads with the new boss. Still, as soon as the elevator closes on Gates, they scurry from their desks, heading for the stairwell.

They arrive at the restaurant a few minutes early, just as Beckett starts to wonder how they'll find Castle. Walking up to the maître d' and asking by name for someone trying to keep a low profile's probably not a great idea. She's still wondering what alias he might've used as they enter the restaurant and are recognized on sight.

"Right this way," the pretty server offers, collecting the detectives and weaving through tables in the main seating area before leading them through a service hallway and up to a door marked 'Storage.' Ushering them through the door, they end up not in a storage room but in a dimly-lit back hallway. It looks like there are a series of alcoves off the hallway, but each is hidden from view by a security curtain of a different color.

" _Crazy_. Never had any idea there were rooms back here," Esposito murmurs as they resume their walk, articulating the thoughts of each of the detectives. The server replies with only a small smile. Pausing at the third alcove, the server knocks on the frame of the opening, waiting for a corresponding knock before pulling aside the purple curtain and gesturing for the detectives to enter.

The space behind the curtain is more spacious than they'd expected, which makes sense – there needs to be room for the wait-staff to stand without holding the curtain open and exposing the guests to view of the hallway. That looks irrelevant today, as the table is already laden with food. But while the boys focus immediately on the spread, Beckett instead turns to her errant ex-partner who's standing beside the table.

Beckett shocks all three men by stepping up to Castle and wrapping him in a hug, careful not to press her hands to his back. " _Thanks for taking care of dad_ ," she whispers in his ear, letting her cheek rub against his and giving him a gentle squeeze. She's shocked to realize how good it feels to have him in her arms. She doesn't let herself linger, though, stepping back before punching him lightly in the shoulder. "And _that's_ for your wisdom crack."

The boys look no less confused when Castle gives a low chuckle in reply. " _There's_ my Beckett. You had me worried with that hug. I thought the nature of this place might've gotten to you," he says with a broad gesture to the dining facilities that are clearly geared toward providing guests with unrivaled levels of privacy and discretion.

"Bro, don't talk about what might've happened on this table when the food looks so good," Esposito requests as he eyes up the steaks Castle ordered for him and his partner. "Good to see you, by the way. You haven't kidnapped anyone today, have you? We're not here to provide an alibi?"

Beckett looks like she's going to let fly with another punch but Castle laughs again. "Good to see you guys, too," he welcomes with fist bumps to Ryan and Esposito, both of whom look cautiously optimistic regarding Castle's noticeably warmer demeanor. "Why don't we tuck in," he says while gesturing to the food.

They pile into the booth at his suggestion, Ryan and Esposito on one side of the table and Beckett and Castle on the other. Beckett's not sure if his gesture for her to enter the bench seat first is chivalrous or an effort to secure an outside seat for himself, but she doesn't mention anything. Besides, Castle's already dictated the seating arrangements by having each teammate's favorite meal plated and in place.

The first fifteen minutes pass with small talk, a chance to reestablish a fragile rapport over good food and lowered tensions. After it's clear Castle's in a more approachable mood than he was at the Haunt, the boys try several ploys to tease information out of him – where he's been, where he's staying, what he's been doing – but he's too adept at deflecting social enquiries to provide any information. Maybe if they pushed harder, but the boys are happily distracted by the good food and drink to be overly aggressive. Which is probably why, Beckett thinks, he arranged for them to meet here.

"So," Castle finally says after setting down his cutlery and taking a sip of water, ignoring his glass of wine as he has throughout the meal, "there was a reason I wanted to get together tonight."

"You're just buttering us up so you can come back to the team, right?" Ryan asks, sounding like he'd not mind this outcome.

"No," Castle answers with a laugh, making light of the offer in an attempt to dismiss it out of hand. "Are you wearing wires? Because I'm here to bribe three cops."

The detectives exchange looks, trying to figure out if this is one of Castle's jokes or if he's being serious. It's a little difficult to tell the difference these days.

"If they don't already," Castle continues by way of explanation, "the people behind my kidnapping – the people behind what happened to Beckett and her mother – will soon know that I'm actively involved. We need to talk about what happens then."

"How?" Beckett asks, wondering if eating her dinner was a mistake if the discussion that follows is going to make her ill.

"They sent another set of people to find me," Castle answers without inflection. "They assumed I ran and hid after what happened this summer. But when their searchers don't report back, they'll figure out that something else is going on."

"Do we want to know what happened to them?" Ryan asks, also looking queasy.

"Nothing undeserved," Castle answers, offering no more explanation. "Once they understand I'm not cowering somewhere, they'll start looking for ways to flush me out or hurt me. That'll include you, though I'm doing what I can to limit those chances."

Esposito lifts a hand while he swallows, making it clear he's going to follow up on Castle's comment. Beckett flinches, expecting another barb aimed at Castle, but she's pleasantly surprised. "'That what you were doing with Gates?"

"Partly," Castle agrees with a nod. "They believe we're on the outs," he explains with a circular gesture that takes in everyone at the table. "They know I didn't have any idea where Beckett was this summer and that you guys didn't come looking for me," he explains without accusation, though every pair of eyes at the table lower in reaction. "Resigning from the NYPD confirmed that belief."

"You resigned?" Beckett asks in surprise. She should've anticipated this development given his other moves, but a formal resignation feels even more wrong than the idea of the Castle-less loft. Gates hadn't said a word. She must've assumed the team already knew.

"What did you think I was doing with Gates?" Castle asks with a low chuckle. "She's not exactly known for her warm demeanor," he says with a smile, "though I think she's kind of sweet."

The looks on the faces around the table are enough to prompt an honest laugh from Castle.

"Anyway," he continues after stealing another quick look at his watch, "time for the bribe. I've got a million dollars for each of you."

He threw the number out so casually that it takes each of the detectives a moment to realize what he said. Then it takes a few more long moments for the enormity of the amount to sink in.

"In exchange for…," Esposito finally utters, the faraway look in his eyes showing that he's still thinking about possibilities.

"For disappearing," Castle answers. "For taking yourselves off the board. I'd say for a year, but it'll either be done faster than that or it won't end at all."

"Castle," Ryan interjects slowly, "that's crazy."

"No, that's about ten years' pay," Castle answers softly, encouraging them to think about the possibilities. "Ten years pay for one year that we can explain retroactively. I can't have Bob or other friends reassign you to a special project now without tipping my hand. But we can do that retroactively once this is done," he promises, further setting the hook. "You'd get a year's vacation in private WITSEC and laurels at the end. And you'd be _safe_."

Both boys cast Beckett a glance to let her reply first, but she's looking very troubled by this offer, wrestling with the potential implications. While she remains quiet, Ryan tries again for a deeper explanation.

"Why, Castle?" Ryan asks earnestly. "What do you get out of this?"

"A clear field," he answers directly with a sweeping arm gesture over the table. "No losses of friends or family, no logistical challenges from organizing your protective details, no chances of friendly fire," he says while casting a raised brow at Esposito, "and the possibility of friendly support for Alexis if I… if she needs help once this is over."

"Why don't we just…," Ryan starts to ask before Beckett raises her palm in a silent request to let her deal with this in a private conversation. Ryan capitulates, but Esposito takes a different tack.

"' _Protective details_?'" Esposito asks. "What, you gonna have us tailed?"

Castle doesn't rise to the bait, though he offers a secret smile in return. The detectives greet this reaction with anxious looks, wondering if they're already being watched.

"The offer's open," Castle finally says. "Think about it. As Gates slowly crushes the life out of the precinct, as the hours get longer and the bullets get closer, let the thought of a well-funded, tropical sabbatical roll around in your heads," he entices. "But, while the offer's open for any of you – and Lanie and Jenny, too, obviously – you should be thinking like musketeers right now. ' _All for one and one for all_.' Because if one of you disappears, it'll draw attention to whoever remains. And if you _all_ disappear, well, that would stir the pot nicely."

Ryan moves to speak again but swallows his words after a quick look at Beckett. The interaction finally prompts her to enter the conversation.

"Guys, why don't you take off?" she requests, glad she set this up in advance as they now look reluctant to leave. "I'd like to talk to Castle alone, please."

Ryan and Esposito comply with her request, though they don't look especially comfortable with leaving at this point. Castle rises to shake hands as they depart, encouraging them once again to give serious thought to his offer. Clearly pondering the possibilities, the boys make their exit. Once they've left, Castle sits on the other side of the table and moves the empty dishes to the side so he and Beckett can talk to each other face-to-face.

"I take it that was set up in advance," Castle says with a nod of his head toward the curtain through which Esposito and Ryan departed. "Should I be worried about my safety, now that we're alone, or my virtue?"

Beckett huffs a laugh, thankful for his playful start to their conversation. It's a good reminder of how things used to be.

"I think you'll be okay on both fronts," she allows with a smile.

" _Damn_ ," he complains with a smile of his own. "You know the money talk was mostly for their benefit, right?" he confides, migrating away from humor to get back on topic. "I set aside more for you and your dad."

"I'm thankful you're thinking of us," Beckett begins carefully. "It's more than I managed when I was running the case." Castle looks surprised, both at her free admission and her comment that seems to suggest she's accepted his oversight of the investigation. "But we don't… _*I*_ don't want to run, Castle," she admits. "I don't want to be off the board. I want to help."

Castle's already shaking his head before she even finishes talking. "Beckett, we've already talked about this."

"I get it," Beckett interjects before he gets rolling. "You were right about my tunnel vision. You can lead. I…," she gulps, screwing up her courage for this point, "I _want_ you to lead. Just let me help."

"I can't get pulled in again, Kate," he answers in a low voice. "I won't let things go back to how they were, not when Alexis' safety hangs in the balance. I don't have the time or energy to be derided, second-guessed, ignored, or subverted."

"Castle, that's not…"

"That's exactly what would happen," he speaks over her. "We could start with the best of intentions but you _know_ what would happen. Even if you could let me lead, which I doubt," he says without malice, "can you honestly tell me I wouldn't have to fight Espo every step of the way?"

"No," Beckett admits, "but Ryan's on board and he could keep Espo in check."

"Maybe," Castle allows, "but it still costs time and energy even if he can. It's a distraction I can't afford."

"But we could help, too," she argues, an alternate play already starting to form in her mind.

"I've got help," Castle reminds her, harkening back to their conversation at the Haunt. She's no more assured now than she was then.

"I don't trust your help," she admits frankly. "Even if they know what's at stake, they don't know you like I do. It should be me," she states boldly, skating up to the edge of a new rash decision. "Take me with you."

Aside from eyebrows that shoot upward, Castle's too shocked by her offer to reply for several long moments. When he does, though, it's with another shake of his head. "A beautiful distraction's probably more lethal than a bickering one," he replies with a flirty smile to lessen the sting of rejecting her offer. "You, more than anyone save Alexis, need to come out the other end of this in one piece. I need to know that some semblance of life will go back to normal when this is done. I've made my deals," he admits vaguely, ratcheting Beckett's concerns even higher. "But it'll be easier to know that if I'm not around later, Alexis will have someone to whom she can turn if she needs help in the future."

"You can't wrap me in swaddling clothes and tuck me away to keep me safe," Beckett argues, frustration and fear starting to coalesce into anger. "What am I supposed to do, Rick? I can't stop, I won't stop. These people killed my mother and nearly killed me. They stole my future, my dreams, and half a decade with my father. And now they're threatening someone I care for," she offers weakly, locking up on any deeper declaration, though he seems shocked she offered even that much. "I'll work it the right way, I'll avoid drawing attention, and I'll send you anything I find," she promises while patting the communication device in her pocket, "But I won't stop."

"I know," Castle offers quietly. "You wouldn't be the woman I love if you did."

"Castle," she replies in a low tone of her own, thrown again by his openness, "you've got to stop saying that."

"Why?" he asks with a crooked smile. "Nothing left to lose, right? All the circumspection and subtext, all the worry about how admitting my feelings might affect our working relationship, that's all gone now."

"It hurts," Beckett confesses, lowering her head at the admission. "Because you're acting like it could never happen, like it's just some daydream you enjoy because you're not coming back regardless of what happens," she admits, raising her eyes to connect with him for her big declaration. "Just when I realize I should stop fighting against us, it seems like you're done fighting for us."

If he was surprised before, Castle looks dumbfounded now. After several long moments, he lowers his head to focus his attention on his left hand, watching it slowly reach across the table as if we wasn't in control of the movement. His head cocks to the side when she takes his hand in both of hers, stuck by the novelty of their connection. It's probably the most innocent form of communion that's taken place in these secret alcoves and obviously the most pure.

"I'm still angry. I'm still hurt," he offers in voice that's surprisingly calm. "And I'm damaged."

"You should be," she allows. "And so am I."

"We'd have to talk," he warns. "For real."

"I'm figuring out how to do that," she replies. "I've got a good counselor. It'll take some time, but I'm working on it."

"I'm going to need some time, too," Castle acknowledges. "To figure out this case and to figure out _this_ ," he says while raising their linked hands.

"You gave me the time I said I needed," Beckett reminds them both. "I can return the favor."

With every objection addressed, Castle lapses into silence to think about where he's found himself. Beckett sits quietly, an early preview of the time she promised.

"When they had me," he says slowly, tentatively, "and they were threatening my daughter, I knew I'd do anything to protect her. It was ridiculous. I was beaten, bleeding, fading in and out from pain and blood loss, but I was absolutely certain I'd survive to protect her. And the things I've done, Beckett…'" he trails off, studying their connected hands. "I would die for Alexis," he promises with certainty before raising his head and looking into her eyes. "But I could live for you."

Beckett chokes back a quiet sob at his vow. He might not be writing but he still has a way with words.

"Thank you," he says quietly. "You've given me hope. It's something I think I'd forgotten. Maybe there could be an 'after' to all this."

"Which is why I'm going to help," Beckett repeats, risking their careful détente but reinforcing her commitment.

"You can try," he replies with a shrug. "I'm not going to change my plans, or share them. I'm not going to make it easy for you."

"When have you ever?" she asks with a brave smile, coaxing a chuckle out of him before she surprises him one more time. With his eyes watching, she turns his hand over before holding it in one of hers while using her other hand to undo his watch band.

"Undressing me already? These private alcoves are _amazing_!" he teases. If she weren't so glad to have him playing she'd tug his ear. Instead, she removes his watch and holds it up in front of them.

"I hate this thing," she offers bluntly. "Every time you look at it means some other nasty surprise is on the way. So, I'm taking it," she says baldly, slipping it into the same pocket that holds the communication device. Then, she quickly removes her own watch and transfers it to Castle's wrist.

He's about to object when she freezes him with a look.

"Now, every time you check the time, you'll remember why you're doing this," she explains quietly, turning his hand back over so she can rest her hand atop the face of the watch. "Why you need to come back."

"Kate, no," he finally replies, shaking his head but leaving his hand in place. "I can't," he says as if trying to convince himself more than her. "I know what this means to you…"

"Which is why you'd better protect it," she offers with a fierce stare that loses none of its effect for the tear that escapes. "Do whatever you can to keep it out of harm's way."

"I promise," he pledges with watery eyes.

Knowing their time together is coming to an end, they sit together quietly for several minutes, holding hands and gathering strength for what's ahead. Finally, Castle takes a deep breath and releases a long sigh.

"Time to go?" Beckett picks up on the cue.

Castle nods. "I should've already left," he admits with an unapologetic shrug.

"Don't suppose you'll tell me where you're going?" she tests, giving his hand a quick squeeze.

"Sure," he offers with a wink and a smile. "I need to go see my attorney. _My_ attorney, not your father," he clarifies, earning a more vigorous hand squeeze.

"Henry or Stan?" she asks, showing off what she learned from Gina.

"So you heard about Stan?" Castle asks with a laugh as he rises from his seat. "Don't let Gina fool you. Stan's alright. He and Gina just didn't get along very well."

"Really?" Beckett asks facetiously. "I hadn't noticed. So," she asks again, letting him know she won't be distracted, "Henry or Stan?"

"Neither," he laughs, shaking his head at her determination. "I'm heading over to Samuelson's firm. I'll pass along your regards," he offers with another wink.

Blushing at the reminder of her completely ineffectual efforts to extract Castle's whereabouts from Jacob Samuelson, Beckett offers a rueful nod. "Fine," she huffs as he chuckles. "Just be careful."

"Be safe," he replies in kind, before tugging on her hand to pull her in. This time he's the one to initiate the hug, and Beckett realizes it feels even better now than it did before.

* * *

The flickering warmth from her parting moment with Castle still lingers days later. It's another paperwork day, the reward for closing Tuesday morning's case after only two long days. Paperwork today, and perhaps tomorrow, and then the weekend spreads out before her with two full days in which to focus on her case. She's mid-way through the banking records and has the feeling she's getting close to sifting out something of use. She's looking forward to making headway and sending Castle a text letting him know she's on the trail…

In good spirits, Beckett walks to the breakroom. The espresso machine, finicky since Castle's departure, works like a dream for her this morning, leaving her with both caffeine _and_ a smile. Clearly, things are looking up.

She wanders back to her desk, noticing the watchful eyes from Esposito and Ryan. They've been well-behaved since Monday night's dinner, keeping their comments to a minimum. Even the realization that she's wearing Castle's watch didn't spur the amount of teasing she'd expected. It was almost disappointing. Then again, she keeps overhearing their daydreams of what they'd do with a million dollars. Castle planted that seed deep, damn him.

Smiling at the recollection of their conversation, Beckett turns to yet another booking form before she hears Captain Gates open her door and call out in something more emotional than her usual tone of control.

"Detective Beckett," Gates calls out. "There's a ten-thirty at the New Amsterdam Bank and Trust on Lex. Take your team and report to Captain Peterson on site."

"Ten-thirty?" Ryan asks from his desk. "Since when are we handling bank robbery calls?"

"Since the perpetrators recognized Mr. Castle among the hostages and demanded to talk to his partner."

* * *

A/N: I have a big work deadline on Friday, but I managed to finish these chapters while waiting for feedback. I'm not sure when the next update will arrive; with luck, I'll made some headway over the weekend. But I check out for medical stuff next week, so I'm hoping to post before then. Fair warning: sacrilege follows. I can't believe I'm about to write an alternate take on what I consider to be the best-written Castle episode. Apologies in advance.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain. In addition, for this chapter and the next two, there'll be text from the Cops & Robbers episode, used directly or with slight modifications.

A/N: It took a little longer to tell this part of the story than I thought, so I've split it up into three chapters. If you've seen Cops & Robbers recently, you can skip or skim this chapter, since it sets up the next two. More notes in the next chapters.

* * *

The officers holding the line around the New Amsterdam Bank & Trust scatter as Beckett careens toward them her car, shooting her nasty looks and raised fingers as she finally stops her cruiser with the yellow security tape neatly bisecting its hood. The looks and gestures fall away when she rockets from the car looking like she'll eviscerate the first person who makes a comment.

"Command Center," she barks, yielding three involuntarily raised arms that point to the trailer she seeks. Beckett's on the move before the stunned officers realize they reacted.

Someone – Officer Monfriez, according to his uniform – tries to intercept her, but a quick spin and a pivot have her past him and pulling open the trailer's door before he can object.

"… need SWAT analysis, sit rep, building blueprints," she hears as she enters and focuses on the speaker. "Five minutes," he says, the voice of command obvious. "Who are you?" he asks as he turns to inspect the interloper, just as a disgruntled Monfriez catches up.

"Detective Kate Beckett, Homicide," she answers tersely. "My partner's inside."

Captain Peterson, his name and position obvious from his command and uniform, doesn't introduce himself. Instead, he studies Beckett briefly as if wondering whether she's up for the task.

"First contact," he says, pointing to the trailer's communication array, "and before I can get two words out he says and I quote ' _I'll only talk to the lady cop. The one with the writer partner_.' That you?"

"Yes," Beckett answers, annoyed they're wasting time. Of course, it's her. She's here, isn't she? "My partner's a civilian investigator. He's written books and given interviews about his time at the NYPD. That's probably how they recognized him."

"Whatever," Peterson replies, already thinking about how to manage this situation. "Our guy wants to talk to you, so you're in," he explains, his discomfort at this situation obvious. "I don't have time to give you a seminar, so think of it like this: you do the opposite of whatever your homicide training tells you to do, okay? So don't yell, don't bully – don't threaten him in any way."

Peterson pauses, noticing Beckett's visible discomfort with his instructions. Cursing the need to train a rookie in a live-fire exercise, he struggles to find an analogy. "You work with a civilian, right? Treat our guy like you treat him."

"I thought you said not to yell, bully, or threaten," Beckett mumbles in reply, running a hand through her hair as Peterson looks even more frustrated.

"Detective, you up for this?" he asks doubtfully.

"Yeah," she replies, steeling her resolve. She slips out of her coat, drapes it over the chair, then takes her seat. "I got this."

* * *

"Javi," Ryan calls out to catch his partner's attention as they mill about outside the command trailer. "Something's not right here."

"No kidding," Esposito snorts in reply. "We got a hostage situation with no cameras, no intel, and I can't get a hold of my buddies in the Emergency Service Unit," he grouses. "I'd say that qualifies as ' _not right_.'"

"I was talking about Castle," Ryan clarifies. "What's he doing here? I've pulled his banking records – all of them. Well," he hedges, "all the ones I could find. He's clearly moved his money in the last few months to somewhere new, probably offshore. But I've got every single record under Castle or Rodgers and this place never shows up. So, why was he here?"

"What you thinkin'?" Esposito asks, his attention snared. "Did…," he starts to ask before looking around and lowering his voice, "… did this place show up in the records for Montgomery, Raglan, or McAllister?"

"No," Ryan answers, looking bothered that he hadn't thought about that angle. "What if he was here to pull money out? You know, for his private WITSEC offer?"

"You think…," Esposito trails off, looking pensive. "No one's taken the offer, have they?"

"None of us, not yet," Ryan answers with eyes that shift away, making Esposito realize his partner's been tempted. "But maybe someone else got the same offer?"

* * *

" _Who's this_?" asks the voice of the man holding Castle and the other hostages.

"This is Detective Kate Beckett," she answers, trying to keep her tone even by reminding herself that she can actually help Castle this time. "I understand you wanted to talk to me."

" _Yeah_ ," comes the sardonic reply. " _I don't like that other guy_."

"Me either," Beckett replies with a smile for Peterson before she shrugs, covers the receiver, and repeats his instructions to build a rapport. "So, what do I call you?"

" _With your bedroom voice_? _You can call me anything_ ," the voice on the phone replies. Her head shakes and eyes roll in autonomic reaction. " _Call me Trapper John_ ," he suggests.

Not encouraging, Beckett thinks, given my track record with doctors.

She tries to establish the rapport Peterson encouraged but doesn't get far before Trapper John brushes aside her inane commentary about his name's origin or her pleasant offer of assistance. " _Kate, Kate, Kate, stop running that idiot's playbook. Here's how this is going to work. You lie to me, I kill hostages. You jerk me around, I kill hostages. You storm the bank, I kill hostages. See the trend_?" he asks, making sure she's following along. " _And Kate_? _I'll start with the writer_."

On that ominous note, Beckett's left with a dead line and a heavy heart.

"Well, we learned one thing," Peterson offers.

"What's that?" she asks. If he says anything about her voice she's going to knock him right out of this trailer, Beckett decides.

"He's not a punk who woke up and decided to rob a bank," Peterson explains. "He knows what he's doing. He knows our playbook. This guy's a pro."

His assessment, and the news from Officer Monfriez that there's no video from inside the bank, have Beckett feeling cold tendrils of fear crawling up her spine. Peterson's reminder that this isn't a homicide, that they need to just wait (' _sometimes no move is the best move_ '), solidify her sense of dismay.

* * *

With instructions not to go far still ringing in her ears, Beckett steps out of the claustrophobic confines of the trailer to reconnect with her team, hoping fresh air and colleagues who share her background will help her focus.

"You got anything?" she asks of Ryan and Esposito, who'd moved toward the trailer when they saw her emerge.

"All bad news," Esposito replies ruefully, watching Beckett grimace. "ESU can't get eyes or ears inside. Bank cameras are disabled and the walls are too thick to drill from outside."

Beckett realizes the implications immediately. "So, what if ESU storms the bank?" she asks, casting a wary eye towards the staging area where men with Kevlar, helmets, and fearsome-looking automatic weapons have gathered to prepare.

"Then they'll be going in blind."

Beckett thinks she knows what that means, but she needs to hear it from someone with Espo's expertise. "And in your experience, in this scenario, what are the hostages' chances of survival?"

He answers only with a look, and Beckett feels her heart sink.

Beckett wracks her brain, desperately trying to find some option that'll give her a lever. She's knows she's in trouble if she can't find a handhold, can already feel the shadows of a panic attack creeping in her periphery. She wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but she knows it would come out as a sob. She's just started to get a tentative handle on all the changes in her life, just started to reconcile herself to what Castle was doing and what it might mean for them. And now this. She's never really bought the concept of karma and this just confirms her belief. Surely, she's not done anything so bad as to warrant this kind of retribution?

She's about to release a slightly mad chuckle when movement on the periphery catches her attention. The door to the trailer's flown open, and Monfriez is windmilling his arm to get her back into the command center.

* * *

"Remember the strategy," Peterson reminds her as Beckett moves directly to her seat and dons the communications headset.

"Hey," she says, reminding herself to sound approachable. "How's it going?"

" _So far so good_ ," Trapper John's voice crackles over the line.

"Yeah?" she replies as she scans a file Monfriez handed to her. "I'm pretty concerned about Simone, the pregnant teller. It's kind of a stressful situation, might want to get her out of there." Damn you, Castle, she thinks wildly with a smile that puts Peterson on edge, why couldn't you be pregnant?

" _No, no, no, Kate_ ," Trapper John scolds. " _You've got to give before you can receive_."

Yeah, I know what I'd like to give you, she thinks savagely. "Okay," she says instead, "what would you like?"

" _A bus_ ," Trapper John replies immediately. " _With tinted windows, that'll take me, my partners, and my hostages to Teterboro Airport_." Beckett swivels her head at the commotion, noting the reaction to 'my partners' – they suspected there were multiple perpetrators but had no confirmation. " _There you're going to have a plane waiting to take us to the foreign country of my choosing. Now, you do that and I give you the knocked up bank teller. Once we land in paradise, I release the rest of the hostages. Well_ ," he hedges, caught by a new idea. " _Maybe I'll hold one back. It seems to me this would make a fabulous story_." With a laugh at his last threat, Trapper John cuts the line.

Beckett's trying not to think about the horrible outcome where Castle's the only one who doesn't make it out of this when she tunes in to some of the chatter in the command center. "Wait a minute," she interjects, "you're actually giving him what he wants?"

"Of course not," Peterson looks at her with barely-stifled exasperation. "The _only_ way that guy's leaving the building is in cuffs or a body bag. But, if it comes to it, I can use that bus to lure the robbers out, have snipers take them out."

Beckett's about to reply when there's a knock on the door of the trailer. Without waiting for a reply, Esposito pulls the door open and sticks his head through the gap. "Did you see the lights?"

"What lights?" Peterson asks before Becket can reply, all while Monfriez turns to the camera displays of the front of the bank.

Rather than answer, Esposito waits for Monfriez to confirm.

"I see it," the officer replies moments later, resting his finger on the monitor. "It's faint."

"Like the reflection off a watch face," Beckett offers, wondering whether her father's watch is going to help her again.

Looking confused, Monfriez offers a hesitant observation. "It looks like…"

"That's Morse code," Beckett confirms, since Monfriez is apparently concerned about hazarding a wrong guess.

They crowd around the monitor, Esposito still standing in the doorway.

"S-D-B 1-2-0," Beckett translates. "Over and over again. What do you think it means?"

Suddenly the tables have turned and Peterson's the one in unfamiliar territory. "Uh, someone's initials?" he offers weakly. "A code? Same… same day… same day bank?" he offers hopefully before realizing his suggestion is meaningless.

"Safe deposit box," Beckett offers with a smile, looking up from the notepad on which she'd been scribbling words to help her think. "Safe deposit box number 120. That's it."

"Monfriez," Peterson calls out, pointing at a terminal in request for the information on who owns that box. Turning to Beckett, he asks the obvious question. "What's a safe deposit box got to do with anything?"

She notes the tone of confusion in his voice and doesn't visibly react, but she's feeling better. _This_ is what she's trained for. What _they've_ trained for. It might not be the case she wanted, and it might not be optimal circumstances, but she and her partner are back on the hunt. "I don't know, _yet_ , but if Castle went to the trouble of sending that message, it means something."

"How do you know it was him?" he challenges, looking again at the weak pattern of lights stuttering on the ceiling of the bank chamber.

"Trust me," she answers with a secret smile, "it's him."

"Agnes and Gideon Fields," Monfriez calls out from his terminal. "Married couple. They own box 120."

"Espo," Beckett calls out to her teammate who's still blocking the door. "You and Ryan track that down," she directs, getting a ready nod in reply.

Their situation hasn't really improved, she thinks as she turns back to the monitors, but she's over her despondency. They've got something to follow. She's worked enough cases to know this is how it starts – one odd thread, one slight inconsistency, one wrong note. It's all she needs. She recalls Castle's words from the restaurant. He was in no conditions to know he'd protect Alexis, but he was sure he could do it anyway. She feels the same sense of ridiculous optimism now. They've come too far, suffered too much, for their story to end here. She's _certain_ she'll see her partner walk out of that building.

* * *

Her sense of optimism holds, but Beckett could use some hope. Sitting in the command center and watching the three hours tick away is slowly driving her mad, as are the scenes she can't help imagining from the inside of her bank. Castle might've changed because of what happened to him this summer, but she still knows her partner well enough to know that he's probably not sitting idly inside. He's too curious, too inquisitive, and too talkative. It's kind of an all-or-nothing circumstance – his natural demeanor is either going to charm his captors or get him shot. She's encouraged that she hasn't heard gunfire or gotten a call from Trapper John asking how to get Castle to shut up.

She jolts when her cell buzzes, her patience from not interrupting Ryan and Esposito finally rewarded. "What did you find?" she asks as soon as she answers Esposito's call.

" _Place is trashed. Agnes is dead. Killer was looking for something_ ," he answers. " _There's a broken keychain necklace on the body, but no key_."

"Okay, that might've been where she kept the key for the safe deposit box," Beckett infers, turning to the bobbing heads from the eavesdroppers in the command center trailer. She ignores the banter between the boys, including Esposito giving Ryan trouble for his ' _Castle junior_ ' suggestions for what might be in the safe deposit box to warrant such an elaborate heist. The reference makes her flinch, but she doesn't think anyone in the trailer recognized it.

" _Hey, Super Cop_ ," she hears Ryan say. " _Check it out_."

"What is it?" Beckett asks, barely refraining from asking them to switch to a Facetime call so she can see for herself.

" _It's a bug_ ," Ryan answers. " _It's not from a spy shop, either. This looks professional_."

"Guys," Beckett says with urgency. "I need you to dig up everything you can on Agnes Fields and bring it in. Go," she encourages. "Please find something for me."


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain. In addition, for this chapter and the one before and after, there'll be text from the Cops & Robbers episode, used directly or with slight modifications.

* * *

The next minutes bring a unique kind of pain to Beckett. She can't leave. The boys are tracking down whatever information they can find on the owner of the safe deposit box that seems to be at the center of this situation. Castle's inside, doing whatever it is he usually does – probably something irritating, insightful, and helpful. And she's shackled to this chair, knowing she can't do anything but watch while time ticks away. She's never been one for sitting and waiting, even when she knows it's the best choice.

The ringing of the line dedicated for incoming calls from the bank jars her in her chair. She feels a momentary thrill at the prospect of some change until she realizes what the call might mean.

"Beckett," she answers crisply, ignoring her apprehensions.

" _Look, Kate_ ," Trapper John begins immediately, " _one of the hostages had an epileptic fit and passed out. Now, normally I wouldn't care_ ," he offers cavalierly and Beckett believes him, " _but it's starting to upset the other hostages and I don't want anyone trying to be a hero. So, here's the deal: you're going to send in one paramedic to get him, and in exchange for this generosity, you're going to have my bus right outside in twenty minutes_."

Peterson's already shaking his head. He points to Monfriez, who's wearing headphones as he runs down the bus. First the officer flashes three fingers, then five. Thirty-five minutes – nearly twice what Trapper John demanded.

"That's not enough time," Beckett replies into the phone.

" _It is for me_ ," Trapper John replies easily. " _Take this guy now and get my bus outside in twenty or I'll start popping hostages_." The line goes dead.

"You think you can get some time from him?" Peterson asks of Beckett, looking doubtful.

"He's not gonna go for it," she predicts, thinking about their interactions so far.

"Then we're going to storm the bank."

The line might as well have been plucked directly from Beckett's nightmare scenario. A blind approach against reinforced perpetrators with hostages behind whom to shelter? It'll be a bloodbath. She won't gamble life like that, especially not Castle's.

"We can't storm the bank," she argues. "We don't know where anybody is in there. If we go in, hostages are going to get killed. By them," she adds ominously, "or us."

"Listen," Peterson replies, annoyed at being questioned by someone who's obviously compromised, "if we're going to save _any_ of them, we have no other choice." With that, the captain starts to turn to make arrangements.

"Maybe we do," Beckett argues, a plan forming, one that plays to her strengths. When Peterson turns back her way, she lays it out. "We can use the sick hostage to our advantage. Instead of sending a paramedic, we send in a cop with tactical training. That cop gets intel for when SWAT goes in to breach the bank."

Peterson looks pensive, wondering if he's being played. "I'm guessing you have a cop in mind?" he asks leadingly.

" _No cop_."

Heads swivel to the door of the trailer. There, standing unassumingly in the doorframe, is a newcomer, neither NYPD nor paramedic. He looks average in nearly every respect – height, weight, build, even his brown hair and eyes seem nondescript. But he holds himself with the confidence of command. He's a king surveying his kingdom; whether it lives up to his expectations is something he'll offer only by choice and his look is inscrutable.

"Who the hell are you?" Peterson asks as Monfriez rises to intercept the newcomer.

"You can call me Lynch," the man offers with a calm voice and small smile. "I'm assuming command."

The unexpected answer causes Monfriez to pause and exchange a look with Peterson. In the time that takes, an attractive young black woman appears behind Lynch, unable to enter the trailer due to the press of bodies. She passes an official-looking document to Lynch.

"Thanks, Shipton," he says in reply. "You need to be a paramedic. Go suit up. Send the real paramedic to me. And if the sergeant's back, send him in on your way out."

As she departs, Lynch turns back and hands the paperwork to Peterson. But whether he's officially in charge or not, Beckett's unwilling to stomach the change in plan.

"Look, Lynch," she offers somewhat aggressively but earning only a slow turn of his head, "it needs to be me. Your… agent, Shipton," she says questioningly, glossing over the title and name of the woman who was here and gone in a blink, "she doesn't know what's going on, doesn't know…"

"Shipton knows more than you can imagine," Lynch cuts her off. "And even if she didn't, there's no way I'd send you in."

Peterson drops the paperwork atop a nearby keyboard, apparently admitting that he's been superseded. While she notices, Beckett doesn't care.

"Why the hell not?" she fires back, drawing herself up. His concern obviously isn't based on gender, given who he's sending in her place, but she doesn't know why he's set against her in particular.

"One," Lynch says, turning in place to survey the trailer's communication array, "Trapper John knew you were connected to Mr. Castle. He's already heard – and commented on – your 'bedroom' voice. Do you really think he wouldn't recognize the way you look or the way you sound just because you dressed like a paramedic?" he asks, turning a look her way.

"Wait a minute," Peterson interjects. "How do you know about…"

"Your communications are hardly secure," Lynch replies, batting away the observation with the flick of a hand. "Two," he continues, going back to the reasons he's displacing Beckett with Shipton, "You're compromised. Considering _recent events_ ," he offers vaguely, "I prefer not to entrust the outcome of this endeavor to the vicissitudes of your partnership."

 _Son of a bitch_ , Beckett thinks. Who the hell is this guy who walks into an NYPD operation, displaces the staff, and knows that Castle isn't her partner anymore?

Peterson and Monfriez, meanwhile, are trying to surreptitiously determine how Lynch hacked into their communications. Lynch flicks a quick glance at them and offers Beckett an eye roll in reaction to reveal his feelings about their stealthiness or likelihood of success. It's an odd moment of camaraderie given his dismissal of her.

"Third," Lynch continues, recognizing her confusion, "I want you in charge here when I need to step out."

" _What_?!" Peterson calls out, his attention immediately caught. " _Her_? She's Homicide. What the hell am I here for if she's running the show? I guess I should just pack it up, then, and call it a day?"

"Don't be petulant," Lynch scolds. "Detective Beckett's in charge while I step out because I trust her not to engage in the folly of storming the bank," he offers, keeping his voice even but still managing to convey his exact thoughts about that tactical option. "In fact," he continues, swiveling his head back to her, "I trust her to shoot anyone who suggests it."

A knock on the door to the trailer relieves the NYPD members from the need to reply. "Beckett?" Esposito asks as he pokes his head in the door. But it's not Beckett who replies.

"Sergeant," Lynch greets him with a nod.

"Ah, no," Esposito replies, casting a quick, confused look to Beckett. "I'm a detective."

"At the NYPD," Lynch allows, "but not in the Forces. I need you to commandeer the ESU vehicle. I want it parked right next to me, back open and cleared out. Go."

But Esposito remains in place, look shifting from Lynch to Beckett and back again. Beckett's about to nod and affirm Lynch's orders when she decides to remain still. Perhaps this new situation will provide some new information on their mysterious new leader.

Lynch, however, looks unamused by the delay. "Sergeant, this isn't Khandahar and I'm not sending you after an ICV. Get me the damned van. _Move_."

Something in Lynch's tone resonates with Esposito. With one last, quick look at Beckett to see if she'll call him off, Esposito turns and heads out, apparently on his way to 'appropriate' ESU's van. In his haste to depart, he nearly bowls over an incoming paramedic. Already upset about losing his shirt, the paramedic looks less than pleased about being jostled around.

"Name?" Lynch prompts as the young, wiry man is opening his mouth to complain.

"Ferguson," the paramedic replies, stifling his complaint. "Tim Ferguson."

"Here's what I need, Ferguson," Lynch explains without waiting a beat. "Bring your ambulance around. We'll be pulling a patient out of the bank in a few minutes. As soon as we get the gurney over here and he's out of sight of the bank, I want you to pull out with lights and siren. Go three blocks, pull over, and wait for my command."

"But…"

"I need the people inside to think you're taking the patient to the hospital," Lynch offers with a raised brow signaling the end of his patience.

Ferguson doesn't notice the warning sign. "But where will the patient be?" he asks in confusion.

"In Interrogation," Lynch offers with a lupine smile. "If his medical condition is legitimate, you'll clear the way for his trip to the hospital. If it is not," Lynch continues as his smile turns dark, "then stabilizing his health will not be my top priority. Do you understand your role?"

Ferguson gulps before he answers. "Yes, sir," he offers fearfully.

"Then get that ambulance over here," Lynch commands before releasing the cowed paramedic to flee the trailer.

" _Interrogation_?!" Peterson ejaculates as soon as the door bangs closed.

"Peterson, Jonathan Davis," Lynch says as if reading from a file. "Twenty-one year veteran of the NYPD, following four years in the navy. You seem a capable captain," Lynch offers casually. Oddly, what might sound like a slight from someone else instead sounds like a mark of respect from Lynch. "I do not fault you for your lack of experience. But there are lessons you still need to learn."

"Look, I've got my twenty, I don't need this shit," Peterson replies, clearly uncomfortable with having been replaced and now lectured.

"Then perhaps Officer Monfriez will benefit from our discussion," as Lynch turns to watch the monitors that show his agent entering the bank disguised as a paramedic. "Saigon. Tehran. And a host of other places with names buried in secure documents. Do you have _any_ idea how many hostage situations the US deals with internationally?" he asks rhetorically. "Detective," he calls out, surprising Beckett by title and Peterson and Monfriez by the apparent digression. "A wife turns up dead. Who did it?"

"Most of the time," Beckett answers, "the husband."

"Just so," Lynch agrees. "That is what statistics and training tell us. When Americans are taken hostage in foreign lands, who is involved?" he asks rhetorically. "Most of the time, a local – a member of the support staff, a confidant, or someone who just happens to be 'visiting' that day. That's what statistics and training tell us. So," he says while pivoting away from the monitor and surveying each of them in turn, "when I arrive at a scene like this, where the perpetrators are organized, efficient, and capable, I find myself wondering where such training could have occurred. And when I learn that their leader broke from his established demeanor to allow us to remove a hostage, I find myself wondering about the true circumstances."

"He didn't give up the hostage for nothing," Peterson replies, though he's clearly thinking about Lynch's approach.

"How much time did he demand for his 'generosity'?" Lynch asks. "Twenty minutes. Let me guess – that was much faster than you could've complied with his demand?" He pauses, waiting for the nods of confirmation. "He even told you he didn't need the time. Because he doesn't need the bus. He's got a different exit strategy."

"From there?" Monfriez asks. "If we can't get in, he can't get out. If not the bus, how's he planning to leave?"

"That's what I'm going to find out," Lynch answers, turning back to the monitor.

* * *

The three members of the NYPD release a sigh as the monitor finally shows Shipton exiting the bank with a man on a gurney. Lynch doesn't react, apparently unsurprised. They watch her progress until she leaves the frame of the camera, at which point Monfriez pushes open the door so they can watch her approach. As soon as the gurney is out of view of the bank, Shipton cuffs the patient to the gurney. She takes no chances, securing both wrists quickly.

The handcuffs apparently have curative properties as the patient's trembling noticeably subsides after they're applied. His look changes from one of mild discomfort to alarm as he's wheeled into the ESU van rather than the ambulance. Beckett can only imagine his reaction when the ambulance's sirens start blaring and the vehicle departs without him.

"Excuse me," Lynch says, clearing the path to the trailer's door. "Detective, keep the peace. I'll return shortly." His words prove truer than he thought, since he doesn't even enter the ESU van before a short, whispered conversation with Shipton has him returning to the trailer.

"There's C-4 inside the bank," he informs them quietly after pushing back into the trailer.

" _C-4_?" Peterson echoes, eyes wide as he reconsiders Lynch's earlier comments about training. "No way."

"If my people say it's there," Lynch replies, "it's there."

"Well, that means a breach is out of the question," Peterson admits. "I'm not going to send my boys into a bomb fight. We're going to have to take these guys out a different way."

Beckett shakes her head, starting to understand Lynch's comments about Peterson's lack of experience outside his narrow area of expertise. Because Peterson's missed two big problems. The first – Lynch said ' _his people,_ ' plural, but only Shipton went in. Which means Lynch has someone on the inside. Who could it be other than Castle? Which means Lynch and Shipton are some of the 'help' Castle said he's arranged for his private efforts to protect Alexis. Who in the world are these people that they could be here so quickly? That's food for thought. She still needs to address the other problem Peterson missed.

"The bus is still 20 minutes out," she reminds them all. "His deadline is in five. He's going to start killing hostages."

"Then you need to get me more time," Lynch answers, speaking over what looked like an incoming comment from Peterson. "I don't need much, Detective," he promises while looking back in the direction of the ESU van.

"I'll get you what you need," Beckett promises Lynch. And herself. And Castle.

* * *

" _Where's my bus_?" Trapper John asks without preamble.

"It's on the way," Beckett replies, again reaching to sound reasonable and wishing she had more practice. "It'll be here in twenty minutes."

" _A hostage will be dead in two_ ," Trapper John replies. Waving aside Beckett's excuse about traffic, he turns to chastising her. " _We have rules, Kate. I said I wouldn't kill anyone, you said you'd get me a bus. I lived up to my end of the deal_."

Already shaking her head, Beckett can feel the conversation slipping away from her. "And I'm going to live up to mine. It just…"

" _I warned you not to jerk me around_ ," Trapper John growls, growing impatient. " _I was clear about the consequences. Do I have to prove how serious I am? Is that it_?" When Beckett again tries to interject and calm him down, the only reply is the sound of a gunshot.

"What was that?!" Beckett asks, steeling herself for the answer. If he did anything to Castle, she'll…

" _A warning shot, Kate_ ," Trapper John growls. " _The next one's for the kill. The next one's going to make pretty red stains out of your writer, Kate. I got my gun to his throat and I'm going to paint a Jackson Pollack with his insides_."

"You need to calm him down," Peterson needlessly reminds her, just before Beckett gives him a look that promises a slow, painful disembowelment.

"You listen to me, jackass," Beckett seethes into the phone, her cold fury dropping the temperature in the trailer. "I do not control traffic so you're going to have to give me twenty minutes."

" _Now you've got one_."

"No! I've got twenty. Do you hear me? Twenty! Because if you pull that trigger," she promises in a voice laden with grim shadows and silent screams, "I will walk through those doors and personally put a bullet through your skull."

Peterson and Monfriez stare at her with mouths agape. Beckett doesn't notice, focusing every particle of her being on the electronic connection with Castle's tormentor. She wasn't here this summer, but she'll be damned if she backs down now.

" _Okay, Kate_ ," Trapper John replies, voice somehow back to normal. " _You've got twenty more minutes_."

Beckett waits until the line goes dead to let out a long sigh. She's just raising her hands to rub her temples when Peterson speaks.

"Well," he utters in sheer incredulity, "that's one way to negotiate."

* * *

A/N: The Dustjackets transcript was obviously very useful for chapters ten-twelve. There's a curious discrepancy between the transcript and the IMDB entry for this episode, though, with different names for the captain handling the hostage situation at the bank: Peterson (transcript) or Johnathan Davis (IMDB). So, I've just jammed all the names together.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain. In addition, for this chapter and the preceding, there'll be text from the Cops & Robbers episode, used directly or with slight modifications.

* * *

The door to the trailer opens several minutes later, admitting Lynch. He looks slightly sweaty and is fingering his hair back into place, but his demeanor is unaffected. Shipton is nowhere to be seen, presumably overseeing the man who was rolled out of the bank. Or what's left of him.

"Is your detainee alright?" Beckett asks, testing a theory.

"He's fine," Lynch replies. "May I?" he asks, gesturing to her seat.

Beckett rises, but not before taking her shot at clarifying Lynch's role here. "Sorry – were you talking about the detainee in the ESU van," she asks while lowering her voice to avoid detection by Peterson or Monfriez, "or Sands or Bader?"

Rather than answer, Lynch turns his head and cocks an eyebrow before smiling and tipping his head to her. "Officer Monfriez," he calls out as he settles into the seat. "Please step outside and ensure that no one enters the trailer."

Monfriez looks to Peterson for a quick nod of assent before he leaves without a word. He doesn't look upset to be excluded from what's going to follow.

"I assume you secured more time for us?" Lynch asks of Beckett. When she nods, he looks satisfied. "Carrot or stick?"

"Stick," Peterson answers on Beckett's behalf. "Biggest damn stick in the room," he assesses, still marveling at her threat.

"So I've heard," Lynch replies before pushing a few buttons to call into the bank on speakerphone, this time prompting raised brows from Beckett.

" _Kate_ ," Trapper John answers. " _You're calling but I don't see a bus. Now's not the time for socializing_."

"Your conversations with Detective Beckett are at an end, Trapper John," Lynch begins before pausing for the inevitable interruption.

" _I told you people_ …" Trapper John starts to reply before Lynch overrides him.

"Or should I say Talbot, William T, from Davenport, Iowa?" Lynch continues smoothly.

When Lynch's use of what must be Trapper John's real name prompts silence, he continues. "You're SOL, Gunny. I've got Brandt. He rolled on all four of you."

" _Bullshit_ ," Trapper John/William Talbot replies. Even Beckett can hear the absence of the calm sense of confidence that's been a hallmark of their conversations.

"You've got a nice little Charlie Foxtrot here," Lynch expounds. "There's no escape through the abandoned subway tunnel beneath the bank," Lynch says easily as Beckett and Peterson trade looks of surprise. "The tunnel is sealed. Brandt also tampered with your detonators, so you'd never reach the tunnel. Not in one piece, anyway," he offers with a grim chuckle.

" _Even if that's true, I've still got_ …"

"Stand _down_ , soldier!" Lynch commands, earning immediate silence. "Listen up. Your op is done. Even though it was well-executed it was compromised from the start. Your boss planned to kill you but sold you out when he didn't have stones to answer some pointed questions. And now I've got him. So, where does that leave you?" Lynch asks.

" _Well and truly f_ …," Trapper John starts to reply before Lynch interjects again.

"Listen, son. There's a market for your skills," Lynch observes, switching into recruiting mode. "We end this now and we've got options. You've heard of work release, right?"

"You've _got_ to be fucking kidding me," Peterson mutters in disbelief, hoping this is just a ploy to lure the perpetrators out of the bank.

" _I wasn't going to walk out the door for that bus and I'm not going to walk out for some guy I've never heard of_ ," Trapper John replies. But his comment lacks the usual sardonic wit. He's clearly scrambling, looking for any out.

"You don't know me," Lynch agrees. "But think back to when you were in Iraq. You remember what happened in Tuweitha, at the ' _research facility_ '?" Something about the way he says those last two words makes clear there's a story lurking here.

" _Yeah_ ," Trapper John allows. " _We heard about that_."

"That's who I work for," Lynch replies easily.

" _Bullshit_."

"Son, I'm too damned smart to claim that affiliation if it doesn't actually exist," Lynch chuckles into the phone line. "I've gotten used to breathing and waking up every morning."

" _And we could work for him_?" Trapper John asks.

"Not domestically, obviously," Lynch replies. "And not if you're not up to scratch. He'll have no problem tossing your asses in prison if he's not satisfied, assuming he'd even expend the marginal effort over lodging a knife in your occipital joint," he offers casually with the predatory grin back in place. "But it's a far better deal than you're going to get for trusting Brandt. So, what's it going to be, Gunny?"

" _I need to think about it_ ," Trapper John answers. " _Talk to the others_."

"No, you don't. There's nothing to think about. You know how this ends," Lynch says matter-of-factly. "You're fond of breathing, too. I'll be in to collect you in two minutes." This time, the line is summarily closed from the trailer, rather than the bank.

Lynch leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers and stretching them over his head, cracking his knuckles and stretching in place. Then, he glances at his watch as he lowers his arms. The casual check of the time reminds her of Castle and makes her wonder if he learned that trick from Lynch.

"You're not really going to use those people, are you?" Peterson asks, still not convinced the ' _work release_ ' idea wasn't a ruse.

"Of course I am," Lynch replies easily. "The four perpetrators in that building represent nearly sixty years of military training. They're organized, efficient, and work well as a team. They made some poor calls on whom to trust," Lynch offers with a shrug, "but we can take care of that on my end. Why throw that away?"

"Because they're criminals!" Peterson rails.

"Oh," Lynch replies, "I see. So, you think their debt to society would be better paid by locking them in a cell and letting them waste away rather than using their skills to defend the country? You said you've got your twenty – that means you were here for 9/11, right? Would you rather have those four rotting in prison or hunting down people like that?"

"They're mercenaries," Peterson argues, mostly for form's sake. "You think you can control them?"

"They know the alternative," Lynch vows with another small smile. "Now, it's approaching two minutes. Time to go meet my new team," he says lightly as he rises from his seat.

"You're actually going in?!" Peterson asks, flabbergasted.

"Of course," Lynch offers. "Job interviews are best held face-to-face. Now, details. Brandt has already been remanded into Detective Ryan's custody. As soon as I enter the bank, I cede operational command back to you, Captain Peterson. The hostages will exit first. They will undoubtedly require medical attention, particularly the pregnant bank teller. The perpetrators leave with me." Waiting a moment in case of question or dissent, Lynch gives a satisfied nod when neither arrives. "Detective Beckett, walk with me."

Peterson swings into action, thankful to be restored to his usual position. He calls for Monfriez as Beckett and Lynch exit the trailer, heading toward the ESU van

"We need to wrap this up quickly," Lynch says as they walk. "There are too many of us here, too many people who could see us all together. Especially with the attention Rick's presence commands," he explains as he slows them down. "So, I need you gone before he comes out of the bank."

"No way," Beckett answers flatly. "I wasn't there after his last abduction. I'm not repeating that mistake."

Lynch casts her a quick look, then nods as if she just passed a test. "Then talk to Shipton," he offers, just as she approaches them. Shipton hands him a duffle bag, then slows to a stop with Beckett beside her as Lynch continues his approach to the bank. Pausing only briefly to knock on the door, he steps inside the bank with the same air of authority he brought to the command center.

"Come on," Shipton says quietly in a posh British accent, nodding toward a nondescript sedan with tinted windows. "We need to get under cover while everyone's distracted."

Shipton's not wrong – absolutely everyone is riveted on the door to the bank. None of the officers, paramedics, first responders, or onlookers on the scene know what happened with the 'hostage' who was removed from the bank or the subsequent call with Trapper John. All they know is a lone figure casually walked into the center of an armed standoff. What a perfect diversion, Beckett realizes. For everyone except Lynch, anyway.

Shipton unlocks the sedan, slipping into the driver's seat and unlocking the doors for Beckett. Once she's inside, Shipton holds out her hand. "Give me your car key," she says. "I'll arrange to get your cruiser back to the precinct. Rick will get this car where it needs to go."

Beckett unwinds her cruiser's key from her keyring, smirking to herself as she tries to imagine how she'd explain to Gates her decision to entrust her official vehicle to a stranger. Still, given everything that's happened so far, she's not going to hit the brakes now. She drops her key into Shipton's palm, then turns her hand over to receive a key in return.

"I'm afraid not," Shipton answers with a smile, refusing to turn over her key. "Rick will want to drive."

Hearing this woman call him by his given name was bad enough, but now Beckett's worried about how much Castle's confided if Shipton knows about their long-running debate about driving. But she's well used to not volunteering personal information.

"Hi, I'm Kate Beckett," she says instead in exaggerated friendliness, rotating her wrist and offering to shake hands. "And you are…"

"A friend," Shipton replies with another smile.

"To me or to Castle?" Beckett presses.

"To Rick," she replies pointedly. "And the people who matter to him."

Well, that was clear, Beckett thinks. She's about to push for information when her companion starts to leave the car.

"I need to go," Shipton explains, nodding toward the bank where hostages are starting to emerge, being herded toward a receiving area where they'll be treated, examined, and have their identities confirmed. Paramedics orbit around the thankful bank patrons and employees, the first ones to arrive whisking Simone away for a consultation with a waiting OB/GYN someone had the presence of mind to contact. "Call your teammates, get them out of here," she says. "Keep out of sight until you're away from here."

With that cryptic bit of advice, Shipton departs, slipping from the car and through the security cordon. Beckett tracks her progress even as she lifts her phone and dials Esposito, confirming that the boys are already nearly back to the precinct with their prisoner.

Beckett feels a cascade of emotions as the hostages continue to file out. They huddle together, circumstances forging new friendships as mutual support provides the strength necessary to overcome their ordeal. She's humbled by the sight, thankful for the role she was able to play. But it's also a reminder of what must've happened earlier this summer, when Castle endured something far worse while utterly alone.

Speaking of Castle, her anxiety ratchets up as the flow of hostages slows and he hasn't yet appeared. She nearly leaves the car when a wall of officers move in to separate the hostages and create a path through which the would-be robbers must exit. The ESU van Esposito obtained earlier in the day makes another appearance, now apparently converted to prisoner transport. Shipton's at the wheel, backing toward the bank so that the prisoners can step directly into the vehicle. When it stops, the rear door opens and Peterson and Monfriez emerge, each taking position on either side of the door.

The bank door opens once more, allowing a five-person procession. The shackled robbers lead, with who Beckett guesses is Trapper John in the point position. The prisoners move easily and with pride. There's no cowering or hiding their faces, just four people striding toward whatever fate has in store for them.

Bringing up the rear of the procession is Lynch, walking easily despite carrying a duffle bag that's now stuffed with confiscated weapons. As the prisoners file into the van and Lynch approaches the vehicle, Peterson reaches out for the bag, but Lynch ignores him. They exchange words, Lynch saying something with a smile and Peterson flinching, but they appear to depart under relatively amicable circumstances. Lynch waits while Monfriez and three helmeted members of ESU pile into the van, after which Peterson closes the door. Lynch makes his departure after finally shaking hands, coming around to the van's passenger seat and leaving the clean-up to Peterson.

Beckett's just thrown her car door open to track down her partner when the driver's door opens and he slips inside the car, tossing a bag into the back seat. No wonder she couldn't find him – he's dressed as a paramedic, wearing even an FDNY ballcap pulled low. Of course – Lynch must've carried the uniform in the duffle bag when entering the bank. Castle changed and slipped out while everyone was distracted (probably by Simone), then blended in with the other emergency personnel. The perp walk and departure of the ESU van would've provided the cover necessary for him to slip into the car now. She's impressed, and a little daunted, at how neatly the whole scenario played out.

Castle pulls the cap off his head and tosses it onto the car's dashboard before running his hands through his hair and releasing a long sigh. "Hey partner," he offers casually as he turns in his seat to face her. "Miss me?"

Beckett stares at him incredulously for several long moments. He should be terrified. Or quaking. Or, she thinks ruefully, fighting off a panic attack in the wake of his second round of forced captivity in the last five months. But he's not. He's a little shaken, but he's still Castle. Still making jokes. She doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

So, she does neither. Or both, she can't quite tell. But she _can_ tell she launched across the car's console fast enough to completely surprise her partner, knocking him sideways into the car's door. Her left arm's behind his neck and her right on his chest, where it rises and falls while trying to decide whether to pet him or hit him.

"Never, never, _never_ again, Castle," she whispers her promise and plea into his neck. "Promise me. Never again."

"I swear," he intones seriously as he lets his arms close around her. "From now on, I'll only use the ATM."

She huffs a laugh into him as his joke helps her hand make up its mind, delivering a light poke to his stomach in return for teasing her.

"Hey, careful," he urges as he catches her right and with his left before she can take another shot. "I kept this watch safe through a _bank robbery_ , Beckett. It'd be a shame to dent it now."

"Is that what you used for the Morse code?" she asks, already knowing the answer but enjoying the opportunity to talk about one of the symbols that connects them.

"You saw that?" he asks, impressed. "Yeah, that was your dad's watch. Next best thing to the bat signal."

"They might've noticed that," Beckett replies flatly before tugging her hand free so she can wrap it around him. "Oh, shit," she erupts as she tries to sit up, restrained by Castle's arms. "Your back – I just shoved you into the car door!"

"It's fine," he assures her, though she's not sure she believes him. "Besides, you slamming me up against the door is something I dreamed about during many stakeouts, I assure you," he rumbles as he tempts her to poke him again. "I'm still kind of riding an adrenaline high. Not sure I'm going to feel anything for a bit. Tomorrow's gonna hurt, though."

"You need to rest," she offers in sympathy. "Any chance of that tonight?"

"That was the plan," he admits on a long sigh, "but today changed everything. We'll have to regroup, circle up."

"Why?" Beckett asks, wondering how much he'll confide.

"Because Lynch is exposed," he answers, confirming their link. "They connect him to me and they'll realize we're playing for keeps. You think things were violent before? It'll be a whole new game then."

"He seemed capable," Beckett offers, smiling to herself as she uses the same phrase Lynch used to describe Peterson. "But is he really so fearsome?"

"Yes," Castle answers immediately. "But it's not just that. Lynch is… part of a group. If they connect him to me, they'll look into him. Then they'll realize that he doesn't work alone. And then they'll understand."

"Tuweitha?" Beckett asks, taking a guess and knowing she struck a nerve when she feels Castle freeze in her embrace.

"Where did you hear about that?" he whispers.

"Lynch said it to Trapper John," she replies. "To prove his identity."

Castle relaxes by a degree but is still tense. "We need to go," he says as he moves to sit up and end their embrace.

"Castle, I'm sorry," Beckett offers, annoyed that she disrupted their quiet moment of peace. "I shouldn't have pushed…"

"It's not that," he interrupts her, though she doesn't believe him. "Things are breaking up here," he says while nodding at the windshield, through which they can see the slow dispersal of onlookers and extra emergency response vehicles. The bomb squad is still at work and Peterson's still circling, but it's clear that the event is winding down. "We need to get out of here while we've still got some cover."

There's too much wisdom in his comment to ignore, so Beckett slides back over to the passenger seat and buckles herself in.

"If there's any justice in the world," Castle offers as he pulls off a smooth U-turn and has them moving away from the bank, "you're getting poked in the ass right now," he offers with a quick glance at the sedan's passenger seat and thinking about all of his uncomfortable rides in her cruiser.

"Not sure we're quite ready for that Castle," she replies while trying to look prim, "even if it would be a fabulous way to burn away today's stress."

The laughter prompted by her comment does a fair job at mitigating some of that stress, though both know it's a distant second-best to an option for which they're not ready.

As the laughter dies down, though, it's replaced by an uncomfortable silence. Talking about what happened today or what it means for Castle's efforts to protect Alexis is only going to make things tense, but that's where their thoughts inevitably return. And with each passing block, the point at which Castle slips away again draws nearer.

"What would happen," Beckett asks idly, "if I refused to get out of the car?"

Castle huffs a laugh, then strokes his chin in contemplation. "Well, my best guess is that the poor kid working the rental return counter would think he'd hit the lottery," he speculates with a wink. "And you'd add another admirer to your vast collection."

Beckett snorts at this comment, though she doesn't let it go. "I suppose there's no point in tracking the rental information?"

"Not really," he agrees. "Besides, you'd be annoyed if that worked. It'd be too easy."

Beckett nods in agreement. It would be too easy.

"If you can't rest, what about an early dinner? You must be starving," she entices, noting that she's feeling a gnawing hunger herself. "What did you say when you brought me coffee before charming my new boss – once more for old time's sake? I bet the thought of a cheeseburger from Remy's with fries and a milkshake sounds pretty tempting, doesn't it?"

She laughs as she watches him swallow convulsively, fighting back another Pavlovian response. He surrenders with grace, signaling a turn that resets their destination. "I really shouldn't," Castle says with a sound of longing Beckett hopes applies to her as well as a cheeseburger, "but I _really_ want to," he admits with a quick look at her.

"You're already in disguise. We'll get a table in the back," Beckett offers, letting her voice drop. "And I'll leave from there without giving you any trouble or trying to follow."

"You've a very effective temptress," Castle admits, using his forearm to wipe his brow. "Please only use your powers for good."

He's given her a perfect opening for more teasing, more banter. But Beckett's realized that with their limited interactions, the tenor of their conversations needs to grow. The banter will always be a foundation, but it's not enough for the dark, lonely nights when dangers – past and future – prowl their dreams and erode their strength and hope. They need more.

"I am using them for good," she answers honestly, reaching over to lightly pull his right hand from the steering wheel. Lacing her fingers through his, she rests their hands on the console between them, enjoying the quiet contact and not even teasing about the safety of him driving with only one hand.

* * *

One cheeseburger alone proves woefully insufficient to quell Castle's hunger. With their table in the back, the former partners put on a show of gastronomic excess, replacing the calories lost to stress and worry. Beckett hasn't been eating as well as her doctors would prefer and her discerning eye suggests that Castle's slighter frame means he's losing weight, too. So, over small-talk that helps remind them of the friendship they formed over the past three years, Beckett encourages him to eat more by ordering more food herself.

The only sour note of their quiet meal comes near the end, when Castle reaches into a pocket and pulls out several pills, which he knocks back with a larger gulp of water. In reply to Beckett's perched brow, he shrugs, winces, then explains. "Analgesics and antibiotics. Nothing exotic," he assures her, "but not much fun. You, too, right?"

"I'm done with my meds," Beckett answers, her happiness at finally closing the door on her pharmaceutical armamentarium more than apparent. "I've still got sleeping pills," she admits in the name of disclosure and uncomfortable honesty, "but I try not to use them."

"Bad dreams, right?" Castle asks knowingly, nodding at her look of affirmation. "I'm not sure they're worth it. Sleep helps the physical healing, but I wake up feeling terrorized," he admits, looking down as his hands fidget with the tall, silver milkshake cup.

"Lanie had me over, after I got back," Beckett says after a few quiet minutes. "She was trying to cheer me up with wine and stand-up comedy. One of the comedians – Oswald, I think – did a bit about the Ambien sleeping pill. His theory was that you have a hallway in your mind and each night your dream comes out from a room on the hallway. But taking Ambien, he said, was like running down the hallway, throwing open all the doors and getting some strange, terrible mix of all your dreams at once. Lanie was howling with laughter," Beckett recalls while focusing on her hands as she nervously plays with her fork, "but I was terrified. Because that's exactly what it's like."

She's surprised when his hand covers hers. The warm weight calms her, makes her realize that she'd been tensing up and lapsing into short, panting breaths.

"Text me next time your dreams get on top of you," he suggests while using his thumb to draw a circle on the back of her hand. "Maybe I won't give up writing completely – I could still put together a bedtime story or two."

"Nothing raunchy," she admonishes to hide the blush prompted by the manipulations of his hand. "At least not at first."

Castle laughs again and blushes a little, too. Then, with a heavy sigh, he gives her hand a squeeze before releasing it.

"Time to go?" she asks, knowing the answer.

"Lots to do," he answers with a sad nod.

"And you're sure I can't help?" she tries, one more time.

He's already shaking his head, but his answer is gentler than the previous times they've addressed this question. "You already are. Moments like this," he says while quickly looking around, "they help more than you know. My life is dark, Beckett, more than I could've ever imagined. Sometimes a ray of light is exactly what I need."

"Sometimes?" Beckett presses, worried about the qualifier.

"A ray of light also makes it easier to see some of things I've done," he says in a quiet voice, "some of the things I'm going to do. There are things I'd like to forget."

This time it's Beckett who reaches out to grasp a hand. "There are things I'd like to forget, too. Things I'd like to do over. So, get yourself back in one piece and maybe we could do them together."

Castle answers with a small, true smile. Then, forcing himself to move lest he linger her to enjoy Beckett's company, he stands and prepares to depart. "Thank you for today," he says quietly. "I know you've had your own challenges, but you were magnificent," he offers, watching her cheeks redden. "' _Put a bullet through your skull_ '?" he asks with a laugh. " _Magnificent_ ," he repeats.

"You heard that?" Beckett asks, embarrassed but also glad he heard her threat.

"He was right next to me with his gun against my throat!" Castle whispers lest he terrify nearby diners, "trust me, I was very attentive."

"That's a little extreme," Beckett offers, "even for me. I think I'll find something a little less dangerous to ensure your attention."

"Trust me, Beckett," Castle nearly purrs, "I'm highly attentive to anything you say in your 'bedroom voice.'"

Groaning, Beckett shakes her head. "I can't believe you heard that, too. I'll never live that down, will I?"

"Don't be shy, Kate," he replies, his use of her given name catching her attention. "You have a beautiful voice. It's one of the things I think about when things get tough."

"Yeah?" she asks, bolstering her courage. "Here's something else you can use to remember me fondly," she says, shortly before her lips connect with his.

* * *

 _Son of a bitch_! Beckett thinks as she bolts upright in bed the next morning. The hopeful sense of optimism created by their time together and their first unabashedly-romantic-and-not-buried-under-a-pretense-kiss helped her to a full night of deep, restful sleep. But with the rest came a blinding realization when she awoke.

Rushing through her morning routine, Beckett's already in her cruiser and heading away from the precinct when she dials her phone.

"Detective Beckett?" Gates answers. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, sir," she answers crisply, "I was calling to let you know that I realized I need to return to the New Amsterdam bank this morning to follow up on something," she offers vaguely. "I know you wanted us to sign out, but I thought I'd head there directly, before coming in to the precinct."

"Fine, fine," Gates offers, sounding surprisingly casual. "But are you sure you're up for coming in today? If you or Mr. Castle need some time after the events of yesterday, you're welcome to take the day."

 _Unbelievable_ , Beckett marvels again. What did Castle do to Gates when he met with her?! Any other day and Beckett's sure she'd get the riot act about not having anticipated her foray and signed out the night before. But if 'Mr. Castle' is involved, then Gates gets soft. Good thing Gates is married, Beckett finds herself thinking before she shakes the thought out of her head. But this does provide another reason to hope that he could come back to the precinct sometime in the future. Hell, if her colleagues knew that having Castle around might make Gates more human, he'd have to worry about yet another hostage situation as he'd be whisked back to the precinct and not allowed to leave.

"Castle had to get back to his family," Beckett embellishes, though she supposes it's a true statement, in a way.

"Understandable," Gates replies. "Yesterday must've been terrible for them. But are you up to working today?"

"I'm fine," Beckett replies quickly. "I just wanted to check something at the bank, then I'll be right in."

"Let me know when you've returned," Gates replies, "and your team will call if there's a new case."

"Thank you, sir, I'll be in soon."

'Soon' is a relative term and not one that means 'quickly,' especially during the City's morning rush. Still, Beckett makes good time back to the bank. She'd been surprised to find an envelope with her car key waiting for her when she'd returned from Remy's last night and now it turns out it would've been easier if she'd just left the car there.

The bank's not opened yet when she approaches the door after parking her cruiser, but flashing her badge gets her in the door. After finally getting a look at the inside of the bank, she forgoes the teller counter in favor of the management offices. She's about to ask for the manager when a slightly doughy man notices her and steps over.

"Detective Beckett?"

Surprised he knows her, Beckett changes course to meet him, holding up her badge for inspection. "Yes. And you are?"

"Jack Davenport," he introduces himself, holding out a hand. "I knew you had to be Detective Beckett. Mr. Castle described you perfectly."

"He did?" Beckett asks, surprised.

"I'll tell you, Detective, I used to think it would be interesting to be around for a robbery, kind of a rite of passage," he says, shaking his head in disbelief at his folly. "It was horrible. But Mr. Castle assured us all you'd get us out. He kept us calm and promised us all his partner would take care of everything. And he was right," Davenport says gratefully. " _Thank_ you," he says as he pumps her hand again.

"Mr. Davenport," Beckett replies while managing not to blush. "I was a minor player in yesterday's drama."

But Davenport is already shaking his head. "We could hear you on the phone, when that man was nearby. We know who kept things together. Mr. Castle said you'd be modest," Davenport praises while blushing slightly. "He also said you were beautiful."

"Thank you, Mr. Davenport," Beckett replies, filing Castle's comments away for later thought. "Did you speak with Mr. Castle before the robbers arrived? I wondered if he'd finished his business before they showed up or…"

Beckett trails off as she sees Davenport's smile. He looks so happy to help that he just can't wait for her to finish her question. Instead, he's reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket from which he extracts a dove gray envelope bearing her name.

 _Son of a bitch_ , she thinks as she shakes her head in consternation and fights a smile.

* * *

A/N: I still don't feel great about having rewritten my favorite episode, but it was fun to play with some of the questions that arose there.

Many, many thanks for the reviews and comments on the story. I always try to reply and will continue to do so. I need to check out for a few days, but I'm hoping to be back in action by the weekend. This story will continue, starting with the contents of yet another letter to Beckett.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

It's still too early for lunch, so Beckett stops in the coffee shop on her way into the precinct. Thanks to that damned letter, her stay at the New Amsterdam Bank and Trust was brief and she's even more out of sorts now than when she awoke. She's got some theories and possibilities about Castle's latest missive, but she wants to bounce some ideas off her team. And that's best done after they've been fed and watered. Besides, she owes them.

Beckett takes the stairs rather than the elevator and goes directly to Gates' office upon arrival. After a brisk knock on the doorframe, Beckett notes her arrival and offers her boss a pastry. After receiving an almost-friendly dismissal wave and a disparaging remark directed at carbs, she makes her way over to their desks.

"Caffeine and sugar," she announces as she sets the drink tray and paper bag on Esposito's desk with a flourish. Grabbing her coffee and bearclaw, she steps back quickly, not unlike the zookeeper who tosses steaks to the lions.

The boys are still fighting over the pastries and drawing envious glances from the other detectives in the bullpen when Beckett settles into her desk. She knows the routine; the food and drink will only distract her partners for a few minutes, after which they'll come over to inquire about what happened after they left the bank yesterday or what prompted this morning's tardiness.

"At lunch," she says a few minutes later, just as Ryan and Esposito were preparing to approach.

"Empanadas?" Esposito asks, apparently speaking in code.

"Something like that," Beckett agrees. Their nods confirm that they know what's going on, that lunch will be another opportunity to figure out what Castle is doing.

Their lunch plans are imperiled within minutes. While they still have a daunting tower of paperwork to complete from yesterday's misadventure at the bank, both of the other homicide teams go out on competing calls within 30 minutes of Beckett's arrival. Gates warns them that they're up next should another call come in and encourages them to make 'acceptable progress' on their administrative obligations lest they be interrupted. Rather than risk her wrath by leaving for lunch, Beckett phones in a delivery order. They've made what Beckett thinks is acceptable progress by the time the food arrives. She relays this assessment to Gates after the food arrives, letting her know that the team is taking a fifteen minute lunch break in one of the workrooms.

"Thought we were goin' out?" Esposito asks as he ambles into the smallest workroom on the Homicide floor.

"Trying to compromise," Beckett answers with a grimace, knowing this isn't her forte. "We need to talk but Gates would've noted a lunch departure. I'm hoping we're okay in here, since we rarely use this room."

The boys nod, on board with both points. Gates doesn't need much provocation to grow short with them, and they only use this room as a last resort – it's claustrophobic, boasts mismatched and uneven furniture, and doesn't quite smell right. It's for these reasons that the room is usually left to host suspects and their attorneys (state-provided or otherwise). The usual occupants provide one more reason they don't like the room (and more than a few suggestions about the origin of the smell), but Beckett hopes that means the chances of being overheard here are the lowest of any place on the floor.

Before she distributes the sandwiches, Beckett reaches into her pocket and withdraws Castle's most recent letter. She opens the envelope reverently, extracting the letter and pressing out the creases with obvious care. Shooting each of the boys a look to ensure they note and follow her treatment of the page, she slides it toward them with a sigh.

"Read this," she directs with a nod. The letter may be facing them, but Beckett can follow their progress since she's already memorized the short missive. "I want to ask you about it."

 _Beckett,_

 _I'm not sure whether to be impressed or disheartened that you're reading this letter. Your tenacity is well-known (and certainly a trait Nikki inherited), but I'd hoped you would slow your efforts. If you've come this far, I worry about the attention you might attract._

 _If I cannot get you to stop, I can at least encourage you to look in another direction. This one is not a dead end, but may become so, literally, if others become aware of what you're doing. I can't protect or hide everyone and this path exposes innocents. And while I don't want to weigh tragedies, I hope to at least spare those who have already suffered._

 _Please look elsewhere,_

 _Castle_

"What's this?" Esposito asks after finishing the letter, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms. "Is he _taunting_ you?"

This was the problem with her plan, Beckett knows. She wanted them to review the letter before handling their lunches so she could keep the paper clean. But she knows how much grumpier Espo gets when he's hungry. So, she passes the sandwiches and sodas around before she answers, but only after retrieving the letter from a pensive-looking Ryan.

"He's not taunting," she replies, carefully tucking the letter away. "He's connecting. Providing me with assurance that the case is being pursued the right way." Esposito looks doubtful, but at least Ryan's expression suggests he's open to this interpretation. Their reactions make her think back to Castle's comments about working with the boys again. "I think he hopes if I keep turning over letters, then I'll trust he's handing things the right way."

"Still sounds like taunting to me," Esposito replies. At least that's what Beckett thinks he said, since it was a little difficult to understand the words through his mouthful of food.

"And you still sound unwilling to extend him the benefit of the doubt," Beckett replies a bit sharply, unable to control her annoyance. She knows she bears a large part of the blame for Castle's unwillingness to work with the team, but Espo's attitude is an obvious and continuing deterrent.

"What did you want to ask?" Ryan interjects quickly, again playing the peacemaker as it looked like his partner was gearing up to react to Beckett's observation.

"When do you think Castle wrote the letter?" she asks, happy to move the conversation along.

Ryan again looks pensive before venturing an answer. "Before the hostage situation, right? Otherwise he would've mentioned it. Besides," he adds, pointing to where Beckett had stashed the letter, "he said he was worried about attracting attention, didn't he? That's kind of blown after everything that happened yesterday."

Though he still looks annoyed and his arms are still crossed, Esposito nods in support of Ryan's theory.

"I agree," Beckett replies, glad they went the same direction as her thoughts. "But that means he had the letter on him when he went into the bank yesterday, probably intending to leave it behind. So, why would he think we'd show up at the bank?"

"Javi and I were talking about this yesterday," Ryan answers, watching Beckett's eyebrows shoot up. "Not because of a letter. Because there's no sign of the New Amsterdam in any of the bank records of interest – from the conspirators back then or from Castle now. We wondered if maybe he was pulling out the cash he offered us to go into hiding. Thought maybe he offered someone else the same deal," he finishes with a shrug.

Beckett nods along while thinking about this possibility. "He wasn't just getting cash," she thinks aloud. "He could do that anywhere, but he thought we'd track him to that particular bank."

At that comment Esposito re-enters the conversation with a frustrated laugh. "Perfect," he grumbles. "So, he was there for the same reason as the perps?"

"You think he was after a safe deposit box?" Beckett asks, getting a trill of excitement even as she considers the thought. She's lifting her phone to her ear even as Esposito answers.

"Gotta be, right? Either that," he hedges, "or he needed to see someone who was there."

Rather than answer, Beckett dials a number, then asks to be connected to Officer Monfriez. After a short, business-only conversation, she hangs up and watches the screen of her phone until his email arrives. She forwards it to her partners, then opens the file.

"These are the safe deposit box owners," she explains as she starts scrolling through the names. "Probably safe to assume we can ignore Agnes and Gideon Fields," she adds morbidly as she thumbs through the list, hoping something will jump out at her.

She quickly grows frustrated. Her first pass provided nothing obvious and she can feel the names slipping through her mind as she starts on her second review and the boys receive the file and start their own review. What would make one of these names stand out? If Castle thought they'd track him to the bank, there must be something here.

Maybe it's not about the names, she thinks as she lowers her phone. Why would Castle assume they'd find out about the bank? Think about the letter, she reminds herself. What was that comment about 'weighing tragedies'?

"Oh, _damn_ ," she exclaims as she slaps herself in the head with her free hand, earning surprised looks from the boys. Leaning in over the table, she whispers a question even as she raises her phone again to look at the safe deposit box owners. "What was Evelyn's maiden name?"

"God dammit," Esposito growls, similarly annoyed at his oversight. "How could we overlook her?"

"It's Washington," Ryan offers quietly. "Her name was Washington."

With synchronized, ferocious thumb swipes, all three detectives send their displays scrolling to the bottom of the alphabetized list of safe deposit box holders.

"Remy Washington," Beckett whispers. "It's an acronym for Roy's wife and daughters: Rebecca, Evelyn, and Mary."

"So, what?" Ryan asks, trying to figure out what Beckett's thinking. "Roy had something of interest and hid it away in a box under a fake name? Even assuming Castle connected with Evelyn…"

"Which would've been easy for him to do," Beckett interjects, "since she knew him and we were all distracted this summer."

"So, either she tells him or he figures out Roy left something behind," Ryan continues. "What's his play? He gets the key from her and goes to open the box himself? That doesn't seem likely, if the bank would even let him in."

Beckett nods, similarly concerned with that incongruity. "What if…," she postulates, thinking out loud again, "what if Evelyn had the key but didn't know where the box was? Those keys are unique and often unlabeled as a security measure."

"Seems weak," Esposito adds as his contribution. "But maybe Cap did something like that to protect his wife. Castle's still got a problem, though – he gets the key, somehow figures out where the box is, but how does he get in? If there's any owner information on file he's screwed. Martha might've taught him how to act, but Castle can't really pass himself off as a black woman. He'd still need Evelyn but his 'note' said he wants her safe…," his voice drops as he realizes what he just said.

" _Shipton_ ," Beckett answers with another slap to the head. " _That's_ why she was nearby. She's a bit younger than Evelyn, but with a fake ID and a convincing story? Castle was probably running reconnaissance. And then…"

"And then the perps walked in and cracked open all the boxes for him," Ryan finishes the thought after Beckett trails off. "When everything wrapped yesterday, who were the last ones in the bank? Castle, the perps, and that guy Lynch, who was Shipton's boss. Castle probably just walked right back, opened the box, and walked out with whatever was inside."

"He had a bag," Beckett groans, remembering what Castle tossed into the back seat as he slipped into the sedan yesterday. "I assumed it was his change of clothes, since he was dressed as a paramedic. But it could've had whatever was in the box, too. It was _right there_!" she sighs in frustration. If their theory is right, she was sitting within three feet of whatever Castle retrieved and had no idea.

"Gotta say, if this is what happened," Esposito offers after they all think about their theory, "then that was pretty damned smooth. It's one thing to come up with a plan like that, but then to see it through when everything goes to hell?"

That sounded almost complimentary, Beckett marvels. Better not draw attention to it, just in case pointing it out makes Esposito recant.

"So, what'd Castle do afterwards?" Ryan asks. "He must've dropped you off and run with whatever he got?"

"Uh, no," Beckett admits. She's not comfortable being put on the spot. On the other hand, if Castle did grab something from the bank, then he showed a ridiculous amount of patience in waiting afterward. Either that or he was willing to put it aside when she asked him to spend some time with her… "He, ah, joined me for dinner," she admits with a blush.

From the boys' ridiculous looks of shock, someone might think this was the most surprising portion of their conversation. But their stunned looks quickly turn mischievous, with Esposito speaking first.

"So, Beckett – this dinner," he drawls. "Kinda sounds like a date to me."

"Me, too," Ryan adds with a grin, unable to keep himself from looking out the window and to the bullpen at large. Where there must be an odds sheet or a pool or some damn thing related to a wager, Beckett suspects.

"Give me a break," Beckett replies in aggrieved consternation. "We'd just left the scene of a hostage situation!"

"So, time for a life-affirming debriefing, then," Ryan summarizes with a smug nod. "Didja go try out those private tables at DiChiara's again?"

"We had burgers and milkshakes," Beckett replies in a dignified voice, though she knows she's blushing furiously. "In public, thank you very much. And that's the _last_ thing I have to say about it. _Except this_ ," she adds ferociously when she noticed both of them looking into the bullpen. "If I hear one word about it, one reference to a bet, one titter, one joke, or even see a single knowing look, I'll hurt you both. You're the only ones who know, so I'll know who talked."

"But…," they say in unison.

"Not. One. Word."

They both visibly deflate, but only after Beckett's fierce look emphasizes her words. Things with Castle are hardly stable and the last thing she needs is jokers from the precinct adding more pressure. She's fought this for so long that she almost feels like she's daring karma to deprive her of his companionship after the precinct learns they're spending time together.

"Beckett," Ryan ventures after an acceptable amount of silence, "are you worried?"

"Damn right I'm worried," she replies without thought. "But what are you talking about?"

"The scope of what Castle's doing," he answers with a broad arm gesture. "He must be involved in something big, right? He's got these people helping him…"

"Like Lynch and Shipton," she nods.

"Right," Ryan agrees. "I guess my question is whether he's using them or they're using him."

Maybe they should go back to talking about her dinner date with Castle. Better that than hearing some of her own concerns raised by someone else.

"Probably both, at best," she admits with a sigh, recalling Castle's comments about how he's 'made his deals' to protect Alexis. What did he do, what did he promise, to win the support of someone like Lynch, someone who's part of a 'group'?

"That's been buggin' me, too," Esposito admits. "Who are these people? That Lynch guy knew about my time in the Forces. He just walked in to the hostage situation and took over."

"I'd like to know their remit," Beckett admits. "Castle said he hasn't done anything illegal but it sounds like he's done some horrible things," she adds, watching the boys grow increasingly concerned. "Who could give his efforts at least the patina of lawfulness?"

This question causes more silence among them, as each detective wonders about men (and women) in black, the alphabet soup of agencies with whom they've occasionally crossed paths. The experience is rarely pleasant and often sinister. Huffing a laugh to herself, Beckett finds herself wondering if she's going to find herself drugged and waking up in a car again…

"Espo," she finally says after noticing Gates surveying the bullpen, apparently taking inventory of who's around at their desks. "Can you do this?" When he furrows his brow at her vague question, she hesitantly explains. "Can I trust you to help me help Castle, without sniping or backbiting? Because there's something only you can do, but not if you're going to endanger him with your attitude."

"My ' _attitude'_?" Esposito fires back, offended and angry.

"Yes, your attitude," she answers, matching his words and his anger. "I don't know if it's guilt or wounded pride or what, but you've been a jerk about Castle since I came back."

"Bullshit."

"Fine," Beckett replies, turning her head. "Let's break the cardinal rule, then. Ryan," she asks while pinning him with a glance, "has your partner missed an opportunity to slam Castle since I came back?"

With Esposito looking at him just as fiercely as Beckett, Ryan finds himself caught in a vise. Turning his head from one to another, he tries to find words that are honest, will calm this situation, and won't sell out his partner. Unfortunately, he can't find anything that meets all three of those conditions. So, knowing the firestorm it'll cause, he reaches for humor. "I plead the Fifth."

"Thanks, bro," Esposito spits out. "Nice to know you've got my back."

"Fine," Ryan replies, annoyed at finding himself caught in the middle. "You've been a jackass. 's that what you wanted to hear?" he asks in frustration, obviously trying the direct approach with his partner. "Tell me this – if someone kidnapped and tortured me, what would you do – sit there and take shots about how I tried to track them down? No," he answers his own question. "You'd be leading the charge."

"You're my partner," Esposito replies easily as if this explains everything.

"And he's mine," Beckett answers. "You don't like him, don't like that he's not a cop? Fine. Will you help him as a favor to me?" she asks earnestly. "I'm worried, Javi. I want my partner back at my side. I want him in my life," she adds, knowing how he'll interpret that admission. "But he's doing dangerous things with dangerous people. Help me bring him home?"

Esposito sits back in his chair, still looking angry but clearly thinking about what he's heard. While he didn't seem to accept their characterization of his treatment of Castle, the direct plea from Beckett surprised him. A personal plea from his boss is unprecedented.

"What do you want me to do?" he finally asks.

"Do you know anyone from your Special Forces days, someone who's still connected, who you trust completely?"

Esposito furrows his brow again, surprised by the question. "Yeah," he answers slowly, nodding his head.

"Lynch has a boss," Beckett explains. "When yesterday's ringleader balked at his authority, Lynch replied by saying he worked for the guy who resolved some situation at a research facility in Tuweitha. Whatever that meant, the perp recognized it and didn't press for Lynch's credentials again."

"Tuweitha?" Esposito replies. "That was enough to get them to surrender?"

"Well," Beckett hedges theatrically, "Lynch's boss apparently also has the pull to get yesterday's perp's sprung to work for him," she explains, smiling at Ryan's incredulous reaction. "And when Lynch said his boss might find it easier to kill them than have them chucked back in prison, Trapper John believed him."

"Shit," Esposito replies in an awed tone. "This is gonna get real ugly, isn't it?"

"That's what Castle said," Beckett agrees. "Can you find out who Lynch's boss is, this guy who did something in Tuweitha? But only ask if you absolutely trust your source," she reminds him. "Whatever's going on, we're trying to help Castle, not compromise him."


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

"Hey guys," Beckett calls out to her teammates several days later, "I need to take off. Doctor's appointment," she offers with a shrug, figuring that's a nice, benign explanation that won't subject her to follow-up questions. It also has the advantage of being true, in a way.

"Wish I did," Esposito replies, sighing in frustration as he attends to the paperwork on the case they just closed, another heartbreaking example of the devastation that can be wrought by jealousy and rage.

"Before you go…," Ryan answers, then jerks his head to get draw her near.

Beckett starts the shutdown process on her computer before walking over to Ryan's desk with forced casualness.

"She moved," he says quietly, tapping a knuckle on his computer monitor. Looking there, Beckett recognizes the address of her former captain. "Just before the loft sold," he continues, answering the question Beckett hadn't asked.

"Did you try to find her?" Beckett asks in a whisper, worried about what Ryan's done.

"No," he answers while Esposito shakes his head, apparently already involved in this inquiry. "Don't want to draw any attention."

"Good," Beckett answers in relief. "Bet I know who bought it, though."

"I have names," Ryan answers, tapping the screen again. "But I haven't looked into them for the same reason. Besides," he adds with a disbelieving nod of his head, "the buyer paid cash. For a _house_ ," he marvels. "Even as a cop, if someone offered me a big pile of cash for my place, I wonder how hard I'd look at their identification…"

"Bad call," Beckett replies automatically. "Not sure IA would be too keen on that," she tries to joke as she turns to leave.

"One other thing," Ryan says, stalling her retreat and catching her attention. Switching to another tab in his web browser, Ryan nods towards the screen again. "Remember that website I showed you before, the one with the video about Castle cancelling his book signing?"

"The one where Paula started the car accident rumor," Beckett nods.

"Right. Well, according to this, Castle's doing a big book signing out in California the week after next."

"So?" Esposito asks. "He's probably running low on cash, needs to pump up the book sales."

"Doubt it," Ryan replies, and Beckett agrees.

"You're thinking this is like the Haunt, aren't you?" Beckett asks, watching Ryan nod. "The 'rock-solid alibi.' You think he's put something on the calendar to draw attention."

"Yeah," Ryan answers. "Got no clue what he's up to, though."

Beckett nods in agreement before looking at the watch on her wrist and sighing. She offers her thanks, then ponders these development as she collects her things and departs. Honestly, she's got more than enough to think about already, things she really should be putting in order before her 'doctor's visit,' but she can't divert her attention. She's got no idea what Castle's doing in California. And as for Evelyn, reaching out to her must've been one of Castle's first moves after leaving the hospital this summer. She can almost picture him in some studiously bland and sterile hospital room, his body immobilized and wrapped in bandages but his mind working furiously as he plots out his crusade just as assiduously as he'd plot a novel.

In some ways, she ponders, Castle's life has perfectly prepared him for a quest like this. Between the theoretical application of his writing and the practical experience at the precinct, he's got an unusual set of skills. And, damn him, he was right on that terrible day at the Haunt – they haven't found any trace of him, his friends, or his money.

She's still thinking about how that initial meeting with Evelyn must've gone, where it might've happened (because Castle certainly wouldn't have led anyone to her), when she parks her cruiser and makes her way to the elevator. Long before she's mentally ready, she's entering Dr. Burke's office.

"Detective Beckett," Burke greets as she seats herself, sounding a little more direct than usual.

"Hello, Dr. Burke," she replies, her formality a reaction to his unusually brusque tone.

Burke surveys her briefly over his tented fingers before wading in. "These sessions only work if you take them seriously. You've been withholding information that feels important to your development and now you're skipping appointments. I'd hope you'd at least have the courtesy to cancel in advance so I can use that time for other patients."

So this week's going to be about tough love, apparently, Beckett finds herself thinking. Fine, but that's a two-way street.

"I was negotiating a hostage situation," she offers blandly, as if this is a regular occurrence, "and dealing with the aftermath. I apologize for not calling," she says with stilted formality, "but those events commanded all of my attention."

"The bank robbery?" Burke asks in surprise. "That was you?" When Beckett nods, he looks confused. "I thought there were no casualties."

"I wasn't there as a homicide detective," she answers. "The robbers," she explains, using a simple descriptor for the perpetrators who weren't really bank robbers in the popular conception of that term, "recognized Castle among the hostages and would only talk to me."

"So, your partner was held hostage and you were forced to handle the negotiation?" Burke asks in disbelief. "I apologize for my comment," he offers quickly. "I can appreciate those needs coming first, but I'm surprised you waited so long to come in afterwards. Are you okay?"

Beckett nods, though 'okay' isn't really how she'd describe herself these days. "I'm okay," she replies, "but it's not something I'm sure we can talk about."

Her comment clearly catches Burke short. "Is this an issue of trust, or comfort, or…"

"It's a professional and ethical issue," Beckett answers, going immediately to the point that's bothered her deeply since the bank situation. Much to her shock, she'd like to work through more issues with Dr. Burke. But how is she supposed to talk about kidnapping, torture, or whatever Castle might be doing to protect his family? "My review of the APA Code of Ethics suggests that the confidentiality of our sessions is subject to your reporting requirements."

"True," Burke replies, concerned by this turn of the discussion but impressed with her diligence. "I'm ethically bound to report any discussions that include inflicting or being the victim of child or elder abuse," he explains to confirm Beckett's understanding, "or if I believe a situation to pose a serious threat to my patient or others."

Beckett's nodding along, but she knows his requirements extend further. "And if you're not sure about whether something needs to be reported, the Code requires you to consult with colleagues or a professional association to determine your reporting obligations, correct?"

"Yes, that's true," Beckett agrees. "Though I don't typically find myself wrestling with uncertainty," he offers with a small grin, trying to instill some confidence in his patient.

"Bet I can challenge that," Beckett offers in reply, though she appears to be talking to herself. When Burke raises a brow to prompt her to elaborate, she instead remains quiet.

"You're convinced that whatever's bothering you would trigger my reporting requirements?"

"I am," Beckett replies tersely. "There's too much at stake, too many things that can go wrong. I'm not going to give them anything more to work with."

" _Them_?" Burke asks.

Annoyed with what she can already imagine to be thoughts of paranoid delusions, Beckett snaps at her therapist. "Yes, _them_. The case that led to my shooting is still open. Five conspirators are dead and we know there are more. This is a huge criminal enterprise capable of murder, kidnapping, and torture. There have already been threats against juveniles and the elderly, and I'm sure as hell still at risk. So, yes, _them_. They're out there and we can't talk about it because you'd have to report it. Then we'd all be dead."

Burke sits in silence, stunned by her statement and its startling conclusion. Had his patient not suffered an attempted assassination, he'd think she was raving. But she's a professional, one who keeps managing to find harrowing situations. She might be healing and she might possess a strong personality, but a person can only take so much stress before fractures appear. And once the foundation is cracked…

"Perhaps," Burke offers after ruminating on his options, "we could talk about what happened at the bank? That was an isolated incident, separated from your regular routine and the challenges surrounding your case."

Not really, Beckett thinks, but she can't really explain that to Dr. Burke without discussing exactly the issues she'd hoped to avoid. So, she accepts the suggestion with the intent of keeping the discussion on relatively safe topics. Who would've thought that talking about mercenaries pulling a bank heist would be a safe topic?

"Okay," she accepts with a nod.

Noting her uncomfortable posture, Burke ties to ease into the topic. "You were not in the bank?" When she shakes her head, he nods and tries to anticipate the situation. "So, you were outside the bank, speaking with the robbers by phone?"

"Their leader," Beckett agrees. "Trapper John."

"Like the doctor?" Burke asks, surprised.

"That was their theme. Each robber wore surgical scrubs and adopted the name of a fictional doctor. I think," she offers, recalling some of their small talk from dinner at Remy's, "Castle might've gotten knocked around a bit for critiquing their choices."

"So, your partner managed to find himself in the middle of another violent confrontation even during his hiatus from working at the precinct?" Burke probes, seizing on the topic that he knows matters most to his patient.

"Yeah," Beckett admits sadly. "He's a magnet for trouble, always has been. Seems to be worse lately, though," she mumbles, marveling at her own understatement.

"It must have been difficult," Burke eases a few moments later, "conducting the negotiations with your partner inside. I imagine a personal connection would usually exclude you from such an assignment."

"Usually," Beckett replies, "but when hostage-takers call the shots, we adjust."

Burke nods at her grim explanation and takes a moment to frame his approach. "I also imagine it was difficult to let Trapper John think he was in control of the situation while you worked to free the hostages."

"He _did_ have control," Beckett replies, still deeply uncomfortable with what happened in the negotiations with Trapper John. Burke can point out her connection to Castle, but that's what made whole situation work – she couldn't have been more invested in resolving the standoff. Without him as her focus, she's not sure she could've pulled it off or dealt with the lack of control. She doesn't know how Peterson does it in standoff after standoff.

"Can you explain?" Burke asks. Beckett gives him a look, wondering if he's actually curious or if this is a therapeutic technique. Either way, she decides to answer.

"He _had_ control. He had the hostages and could do whatever he wanted," she offers in a too-casual voice. When Burke's look suggests he's not buying her aloof recitation, she gets a little irritated. "Look, we all know how these situations end – it's very rare for hostage-takers to get away. The standoffs are usually long, drawn-out affairs. But the question isn't really are they going to get away, it's how are things going to end? Will the perps finally give up and come out or will they go out in a blaze of glory? Sometimes," she explains in a voice grower lower and lower, "the captors decide they don't want to go out alone. So, our job – my job – was to make sure the hostages were alive at the end. And that meant keeping Trapper John happy as long as possible."

"All while he was able to threaten your partner."

"Yes," Beckett whispers, looking down to shelter behind her hair. "Things got tense, toward the end. He… he fired a shot and I thought… I thought I'd gotten Castle killed," she confesses in a broken voice. Burke's about to reply but Beckett wants to finish describing this nightmare. "Then he put the gun against Castle's neck and said the next shot wouldn't miss."

"Kate," Burke calls out, emoting far more than usual as he tries to reach his patient, "You've spent more than a decade of your life hammering away, using your job as an anvil to shape yourself into the sword that'll find justice for your mother. You've controlled your own destiny, arranged your entire life to help you achieve that goal. It's not a life that's been marked by compromise or relinquishing control. I won't bore you with platitudes about the strength of the reed, about having the strength to both stand tall and to bend when necessary. But you did it when you needed to – you gave Trapper John enough control to keep everyone safe until the end."

"You think that's what happened?" Beckett scoffs. "Here's how much control I gave him," she explains in a voice that sounds a little out of control. "I told him he wouldn't pull the trigger because if he did I'd march through the door and blow his head off."

"I…," Burke replies, completely shocked and a little appalled, both with her actions and his blundering into this topic. He's as bad as his patient, he chastises himself, trying to learn on the fly. "Perhaps it's true what they say," he offers, going back on his comment about avoiding platitudes. "There's no substitute for intuition."

"It was honest," Beckett replies with a shrug. "We both knew it, so it worked." Her comment was meant to shut this line of discussion, to get Burke to move on. But it prompts a burst of sudden understanding in Beckett. _This_ is what Castle felt when they were threatening Alexis – the complete certainty that he would do anything to protect her. Beckett's been around, she knows how this works. If Trapper John had hurt Castle, she would've made good on her threat. And her colleagues would've cleaned it up. She might be busted down or tossed out, but the blue line would protect her. It's yet another resource Castle doesn't have.

Thinking of him opens another door in her mind. All this talk of control – it's not really Trapper John who challenged her in this regard, but Castle. Even now he's out there somewhere, pursuing the case in ways she can't anticipate, leaving those cursed and cherished letters behind. And even though they've been texting, he's been careful not to reveal anything about his efforts. She feels like an old mariner, one of those salty souls who saw only the surface ripples of something large and unknown moving beneath the surface. ' _Here Be Monsters_ ,' she smirks to herself as she thinks about Castle staying out of sight but definitely causing havoc.

"Kate?" Burke calls out, apparently not for the first time. When she looks up, she sees not the expected look of concern but instead one of curiosity. "Care to share what you were thinking? I thought perhaps I'd offended you, but your smile suggests otherwise."

She was smiling? Beckett actually lifts a hand to her mouth to confirm. Now Burke does look concerned.

"You helped me realize something," she offers. "The situation with Trapper John was terrifying. I had to give up control and Castle's life was in the balance. I've never given up control because I've never trusted anyone to do what I could do."

"And your epiphany…?"

Irritating therapist. She knows what he's assuming. "Look, I know there's a difference between self-reliance and self-obsession," Beckett explains before growing irritated at his perched brow. "If I trust someone, I think I could let go." Especially if I'm not given the choice, she thinks, though she won't share that bit with Burke.

"And you think there's someone you could trust enough to help shoulder some of your responsibilities?" Burke asks, lobbing a softball in her direction since they both know who she's thinking about.

"I'm starting to think so," she answers, refusing to articulate Castle's name to see if Burke will call her on it.

Burke sighs but lets the point pass, aware that he's already misstepped egregiously in this session. "I'm concerned," he admits, stating his thought baldly rather than leading her with questions. "Choosing to rely on your partner only after he leaves may not signal trust so much as regret, guilt, or hope. Are you sure that…"

"I trust Castle," Beckett states clearly and with conviction, using the opportunity to chastise herself for thoughts that weren't originally so charitable. "And he'll come back. To the precinct, I hope. But he'll come back to me. He always has."

Burke does well to hide his deeply troubled reaction to this declaration. Even as they downshift into a more banal conversation and start to draw this session to a close, his mind is reeling. His patient does not trust easily and relies on people even less. It seems as if she's made some drastic changes in her relationship – professional or otherwise – with Mr. Castle. But the timing is deeply disturbing. He wonders if her long-hidden hope for a connection with her partner is a poor coping mechanism for his departure. And things might be worse if not – what happens if Mr. Castle doesn't return to the precinct or some form of partnership with Kate? For someone who doesn't trust easily, such a rejection might reinforce some of her most challenging characteristics.

Beckett, at least, seems pleased by today's session, clearly pleased by the realization she mentioned. It's a small miracle given the tension of today's talks. So, Burke decides to bring things to a close.

"We'll talk again at your regularly scheduled appointment?" he asks. "I'm sorry, again, for my comments about missing your last session."

"Next week as scheduled," Beckett answers with a nod, acknowledging Burke's apology with her back-to-business attitude.

"Please be careful," Burke warns, catching Beckett's attention. "It sounds as if your focus on Mr. Castle kept any of your anxiety at bay during the stand-off, but now that it's passed you might find periods of stress more frequent or more harrowing. Should that occur," he offers kindly, "remember the coping mechanisms we've discussed and call me if you'd like to talk."

Beckett nods but doesn't verbally reply. She'd expected new peaks of PTSD following what happened at the New Amsterdam, but has been pleasantly surprised so far. She still has panic attacks, but they're no worse and might even be growing less frequent.

With his warning still ringing in her ears, Beckett makes her departure. While there's not exactly a spring in her step, she does appear less burdened than when she arrived. Burke maintains a small smile until the door closes behind her. With no witnesses, he walks over to his desk and slumps into his chair, trying to make sense of what happened today.

While his brusque start to their session was clearly a mistake, the session really turned when Kate refused to talk about some of the issues she's facing. He's never had a patient openly challenge the topics for discussion due to his ethical requirements. She'd obviously done her research and thought about the topics that might force him to report their conversation.

Hers wasn't a general apprehension, he slowly realizes. She had specific concerns in mind, concerns that mirror the Code of Ethics. She mentioned child and elder abuse, which now seems odd. She's mentioned nothing about her father and she has no children or nieces or nephews. In fact, Detective Beckett's life seems devoid of children about whom there could be concern.

Burke snaps his fingers as he leans forward. Of course – it's Mr. Castle. He has both a mother and a daughter. But that would mean the threats Kate mentioned were not limited to her but instead involve the Castle family as well. And if that's the case, then Mr. Castle's departure from the precinct takes on a whole different meaning…

Luckily, Dr. Burke thinks, Mr. Castle is a public figure. There ought to be a wealth of information online about him. Perhaps if he can figure out what's going on with the Castle family, Burke thinks as he leans forward and wakes his computer, then he could more effectively treat Detective Beckett. Time to do some online research for his patient, he thinks as he opens a web browser and starts to see what's going with her partner.

* * *

A/N: So, it's been an interesting week: my writing (and other efforts) were slowed by floods and mudslides in San Francisco, a blizzard in Boston, and lots of time spent trying to find alternate travel arrangements. I'm home again and trying to get caught up.

Many thanks for the reviews, especially on the Cops & Robbers chapters. My professional life is getting crazy again, but I'm looking forward to writing the next chapter, so I'll find time to have some fun this week.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

"Lanie, can I ask you a favor?"

The medical examiner doesn't immediately reply, instead finishing her notes on the crime scene so the body can be released to the lab techs and taken back to OCME. At least she appears to be taking notes. Given the frosty relationship between her and Beckett, it might be a stalling technique.

"I'll request a rush on the lab work, _detective_ ," Lanie answers in anticipation of the favor. Without looking up, she turns to move toward the coroner's van. Her displeasure at the tense state of her friendship with the detective is more than apparent by her tone.

"Lanie, please," Beckett requests again, dropping her voice. "I know I haven't been a good friend. I told you why I didn't call during the summer…"

"You think that's what this is about?" Lanie cuts over her. "Kate, you've been back for _months_. Yes, you told me about the summer," she agrees, her cold tone making it clear that she's still upset about the lack of communication then, "but what about since you've been back? I'm not stupid. I know something's going on. Not that you'd actually _talk_ to me about it."

"It's dangerous," Beckett offers, the justification sounding feeble even in her own ears. "I don't want anyone else at risk."

"That's my decision, don't you think?" Lanie fires back. "What would you say if Castle kept something from you for your own good? Oh, wait, I guess we won't know, since you've run him off."

Beckett presses her hands together and raises them to her forehead as she looks down to think. She can't really blame Lanie for her anger or for her assumption that Beckett's behavior forced Castle to leave. In fact, before she was shot, she'd tried to do exactly that – something for which she still carries a fair amount of guilt, despite the efforts of her therapist. But she can't correct Lanie's assumptions without telling her what's going on.

Perhaps she should confide in her friend? Each new person brought it increases the chances that they'll attract notice, from Gates if not from someone more nefarious. But, she thinks, it's really only her team that knows the broader dimensions of their efforts. Maybe she should share enough with Lanie to allow her friend to make her own decision. It's only fair, she supposes, since she was about to ask Lanie to provide them with some cover.

"Can we talk in the van?" Beckett asks, getting first a raised eyebrow and then a curt nod in reply.

"So?" Lanie prompts a few minutes later after they've climbed into the front of the van, leaving confused detectives and med techs milling about the crime scene, looking in vain for direction.

"When I was away," Beckett starts to speak in a tone so low that Lanie needs to lean over to hear her, "the people who tried to kill me took Castle. They tortured him for almost a week, first physically then mentally. Then they threatened to do horrible things to Alexis unless he helped them."

Lanie groans, her fierce, offended look replaced with one of horror. " _That's_ why they disappeared? I thought it was because you…" Lanie doesn't complete her sentence, but Beckett feels the guilt nonetheless.

"You knew they're gone?" Beckett asks, moving to the comment that surprised her rather than lingering on Lanie's assumption.

"I haven't heard anything from Castle or Alexis," she replies. "Thought it was because you two broke up."

"Alexis and Martha are hidden away somewhere under fake names," Beckett offers, watching Lanie's eyes open wide at this revelation. "Alexis is fine. I don't know what happened to Martha. Something bad."

"Oh, Kate," Lanie groans in dismay, shaking her head. "Is Castle alright?"

"No," Beckett answers truthfully. "Physically… they hurt him Lanie," she confesses with a sniffle. "They whipped him raw. His back's tangled mess of scars," she whispers, her eyes closed as she remembers the gruesome scene from the Haunt. "And then they burned him," she continues to the sound of Lanie's sniffles. "Electrical burns to his torso so he'd still be in pain if he favored his back."

" _Dear God_ ," Lanie moans, making the sign of the cross as she offers a prayer for her sweet, good-natured friend. "What about mentally?" she asks, remembering how Beckett started her description.

"Mentally…," Beckett starts slowly, gathering her thoughts. "Mentally, he's even worse," she confesses, finally letting some of her fear for Castle shine through. She keeps up a front for the boys as part of her effort to show them that she can let Castle lead the investigation. But, privately, she's terrified – terrified of what's he's done, what deals he's made, and what kind of harm might befall him. She can't talk to Burke, either, with his reporting requirements. She can't even talk to her father for fear of prompting a relapse or fracturing their newfound closeness. She's really an idiot for not confiding in her friend earlier.

"I'm not surprised," Lanie offers in a low whisper. "Overcoming a trauma like that…"

"That's not the problem, at least not yet," Beckett interrupts her friend. "He's on a rampage. He's sold everything he owned and is using the money to go after the people who hurt us, who threatened Alexis. You think I had an unhealthy fixation with my mom's case? I've got nothing on Castle."

Lanie looks at her friend, trying to decide if Beckett's being honest. And not just because the words seem so foreign, but also because of the odd tone.

"You're proud of him," Lanie guesses after cocking her head and looking at her friend. "You're afraid, but you also sound… impressed?"

Maybe she shouldn't have talked to Lanie after all, Beckett reverses herself again. She can be uncomfortably accurate in reading Beckett's moods and tones.

"I'm afraid of what he's done, what he might do," Beckett admits. "I'm afraid of the people he's enlisted to help. I'm afraid of what might happen if they take him again," she finishes her litany of fears with a low tone. Then, she raises her head and looks at her friend. "But I'm also in awe of him. He's gonna be the one who pulls the whole thing down. He's hidden himself away so well that we can't find a trace of him – if he hadn't given me a way to send him messages, I'd never be able to find him. He's rattling cages and making plans. And he's miles ahead of me."

"What do you mean?" Lanie asks, her smile at hearing Beckett's admiration giving way to confusion.

"I'm trying to work the case, too. _Not_ in competition with him, which was my first instinct. I'm trying to show him I can help," she offers with a self-conscious shrug. "But every time I track something down, I find out he's already been there."

"Is he following you?" Lanie asks with a perched brow, wondering if Castle's just taken his supposed 'creepy staring' to a new level.

"No," Beckett huffs, knowing what her friend is thinking about. "He leaves letters. Then I know that aspect of the investigation has been run down. I expect I'll find another one today, since we're following up on something he was working on before they took him."

"Is this the favor you were going to ask?"

"Yeah," Beckett replies. "We're still on a short leash with the new Captain."

"I've heard," Lanie interjects. "Javi's not too fond of her."

"None of us are," Beckett agrees. "Except Castle," she corrects herself with a roll of her eyes. "And just when she rescinded the requirement to log all of our movements in advance, the boys went on their disastrous little unauthorized adventure. So, now we can't go anywhere without logging in and out. But I'd like to make a stop on the way back to the precinct."

"You mean you'll stop by my morgue, where we'll discuss your new case for, what – half-an-hour? Forty-five minutes?" Lanie asks with a knowing look, providing an alibi without a direct request.

"Forty-five minutes will do nicely," Beckett answers with a small smile. "Thank you, Lanes. I'm sorry I've kept you on the outside of this."

"I trust you won't make that mistake again," her friend replies fiercely, though with a smile.

"I won't," Beckett agrees. "I'm learning from my mistakes. I've made quite a few so it's talking me longer than I'd like, but I'm trying."

"Maybe you need your partner to help," Lanie suggests shrewdly.

"He is," Beckett replies honestly and earnestly. "And I'm helping him, too. He told me," she confesses with a blush.

"Well, well, well," Lanie offers with a smug grin. "Sounds like some people I know might actually be…," she gasps and slaps her hands to her cheeks in a look of shock, " _talking about their feelings?!_ "

" _Shut up_ ," Beckett moans as her blush deepens. Then, after taking a quick breath to reclaim her composure, she makes another confession. "Like I said: I'm trying."

"Just be careful, please," Lanie reminds her, probably thinking about the investigation if not Beckett's fragile heart. "Take care of yourself."

"I will," Beckett promises as she reaches for the door handle. But then she pauses and turns back to her friend. "You didn't know about what's going on with Castle?" she asks, thinking this through. He probably put plans in motion, but he apparently hasn't reached out to Lanie directly. Hopefully, that was to keep a low profile and not because of security concerns, otherwise she's made a dire mistake. And, shockingly, it sounds like Espo hasn't said anything to her, either.

When Lanie shakes her head, Beckett sighs and offers one last explanation. _In for a penny_ …, she thinks. "He's made arrangements for us, including you. Safe places we can go if things start getting out of hand. If he hasn't mentioned anything, I'm sure he's got something in place. Promise me, Lanie," she begs her friend. "If anyone calls you and tells you to run, please run. We can sort it all out later, but stay safe."

Lanie gives her an odd look, then reaches across the seat to hug her friend. "I've missed you, Kate. I've been so worried about you."

"I'll be okay," Beckett replies, swallowing her concerns and qualms to fuel some optimism. She's about to thank her friend for her concern when she instead they both jump and squeal (though Beckett would deny making any noise) after a sharp rap on the window startles them both.

Looking furious, Lanie turns to the window to see a wide grin from Esposito. Ryan's standing several yards behind him shaking his head. "Is this like a slumber party?" Esposito says loudly to be heard through the van's window. "Where are the pajamas and pillows?"

"Javier Esposito," Lanie growls as she kicks the door open, nearly knocking him away from the vehicle. "I promise you – after that little stunt, the last thing you have to worry about is seeing me in my sleepwear."

" _What_?" Esposito replies, sounding more panicked than contrite. "It was just a joke…"

"I agree," Lanie says fervently as she climbs out of the van and sees Beckett round the front of the vehicle, also looking less than pleased. Letting her gaze drop from Esposito's face and down to his lower half, she finishes her thought. "It is a joke," she says with an emphatic nod.

"What? _No_ ," Esposito replies, masculine pride injured by her comment and Ryan's stifled chuckle.

"Let's roll," Beckett says tersely, embarrassed about being caught out at a crime scene and irritated that the boys need to tag along so her absence at the precinct isn't emphasized. Ryan falls into line but Esposito looks torn between joining them and trying to mollify Lanie. Her glare finally sends him on his way, mind furiously working on how to get him out of this predicament.

"You have the address?" Beckett asks Ryan, who nods. "Lanie will cover for us – well, for you and I, anyway," she says to Ryan, deepening Esposito's concerns. "I'll meet you there."

* * *

Beckett pulls around to the back of the firehouse, making sure to keep her cruiser out of the way in case the trucks need to roll during their visit. It takes only a few minutes for the boys to join her. Without a word, they fall into step and enter the firehouse.

The entrance of three members of the NYPD commands immediate attention. The detectives ignore the grumbling and push towards the back of the house where the administrative offices are located. A lone wolf-whistle breaks through the tension and causes some chuckles among the firefighters.

"Sorry, guys, but I'm taken," Ryan offers apologetically, prompting stifled smirks from his teammates.

A few more steps and they reach the office they need and Beckett raps on the door. They interpret a grunt from within to mean they should enter, so Beckett pushes the door open and nearly steps back in surprise. The office is comically small – the desk must've been built within the office, as its girth leaves precious few square feet of available space. She slides into the gap between the front of the desk and the wall, leaving the boys to linger in the doorway.

"Mr. Halstead?" she asks, getting a nod from the man crammed behind the desk. "I'm Kate Beckett," she offers, pulling her jacket open to show the badge on her belt. "I'm here to ask you about an old warehouse fire you investigated in…"

"Union City," Halstead interrupts, nodding his head. "You're the detective, right?" he asks as he looks away from her to unlock the lower drawer of his desk. There's not enough room to fully open the drawer, so Halstead grunts while he tries to contort his arm inside. Watching his efforts, all Beckett can think of is someone who's trying to steal something from a vending machine by reaching up through the dispensing slot.

"Yes, I'm Detective Beckett," she agrees with a pursed mouth. "I take it you have a letter for me?"

"Right… _here_!" Halstead exclaims as he finally manages to extract his hand from the desk drawer, the dove gray envelope in his hand looking a bit rumpled from its rough treatment.

Beckett sighs, reaching out to take the now-familiar letter from Halstead. It's not really a surprise for exactly the reason she shared with Lanie – this is the track of the investigation Castle started immediately after her shooting. They know Montgomery, Raglan, and McAllister took payments and hoped the banking records from back then would give them an investigative avenue to pursue. In some ways, she would've been disappointed if Castle hadn't run this lead down. But she'll confess to growing frustrated that she's turned up nothing new.

"Can you tell me when he left this letter?" Beckett asks, since Castle's notes aren't usually dated.

"A month or two ago?" Halstead replies, eyes looking up as he tries to remember the details. "Not sure. A while ago, anyway. Thought he was crazy at the time, asking questions about an old warehouse fire and coming back later to leave a letter behind. But he described you well and promised that passing the letter along might save me a whole lot of hassle. If I've already got the Feds poking around I don't need the NYPD, too."

"He was a Fed?" Beckett asks in surprise, catching the boys looking at each other in her peripheral version.

"Yeah," Halstead replies, wondering why this was a surprise. "Badge and all, though I didn't see a gun," he says while nodding toward Esposito and Ryan, whose service weapons have been in plain sight since they entered the firehouse. "Why? Is he not really a Fed? That would explain why he was so polite."

"He's changed positions recently," Beckett answers vaguely. "I wasn't sure of his affiliation when he visited. Can I call you if I have any questions?" she asks while waving the letter.

"Sure," Halstead replies. He moves quicker than Beckett expected, pulling the envelope back out of her hand and scribbling his name and number on it while she cringes at the graffiti.

Anxious to avoid making them any more memorable to Halstead and, heaven forbid, giving him a reason to contact the 12th precinct with any questions, Beckett thanks him for conveying the letter and makes her departure.

"Castle's posing as a Fed?" Esposito asks before Beckett shushes him.

"Not here," she admonishes as she leads them back to their cars. Feeling paranoid, each detective is casting glances over their shoulders. Stymied by their current predicament, Beckett leads them past their cars and down the block to a subway entrance. They descend quickly, mindful of the need to get back to the precinct. A quick flash of the badges get them past the turnstiles and into a decrepit alcove out of the pedestrian flow.

"I don't know what's going on," Beckett offers without preamble once they stop. Huddled close to Ryan and Esposito, she keeps her voice low and trusts Esposito to keep a wary eye out for anyone who's paying them too much attention. "Castle said he hasn't broken any laws and flashing a fake badge would be a serious infraction," she offers. "I guess he could be a Fed now, given his connections. Or," she adds, "maybe Castle wasn't even here. Maybe it was that guy Lynch."

"We should've showed Castle's picture to Halstead," Ryan interjects before Esposito disagrees.

"No," he says, shaking his head but still scanning the subway station. "We already gave Halstead a reason to remember us. Best to get the letter and regroup. What's it say?"

"I don't know yet," Beckett answers. "I want to look at it before I pass it along." Even though she feels emotionally exposed by her admission, her words are loud and clear.

Esposito rolls his eyes as Ryan looks torn between annoyance and indulgence. Ryan spins in place to turn his back to Beckett and help Esposito watch for trouble. "Go on," he encourages. "We'll keep watch. Show us if you can."

The situation is hardly ideal, but Beckett relents. With a sigh, she slips a fingernail under the flap of the envelope and slowly moves it across the seam while making an effort to minimize the roughness of the tear.

 _Beckett,_

 _You should thank me for sparing you a conversation with Halstead. He'd drive you crazy. He's very good at what he does, but he'd be a horrible detective – no imagination at all. As far as he's concerned, the warehouse fire was an accident. It was caused by a power surge to the junction box, something Halstead himself described as a "one in a million event."_

 _I know you're itching to toss him in the box and tear him apart. I think that's unnecessary, but you're the professional. If you do pursue that route, you could ask him if he ever heard of Ray Hudson. As I'm sure you'll find out, Ray was a something of a specialist in industrial and business-interruption insurance fraud. He was particularly good at causing electrical mayhem, including fires. Unfortunately, your colleagues pulled Hudson out of the Hudson (no relation) with two slugs in his head three days after the warehouse fire. You'll be shocked to learn the slugs have gone missing from the NYPD evidence locker._

 _No, I didn't take them._

 _But while that evidence went missing, working in insurance made Ray something of a record-keeper. It took me a long time to track down his notes, but they make for an interesting read. Should I ever decide to write again, he'd make an intriguing character. Almost as intriguing as some of the people who hired him._

 _Happy hunting,_

 _Castle_

Beckett reads the letter three times before passing it to her colleagues. She keeps watch while they read, her mind picking at the deviations in this missive.

"Weird," Ryan offers. "It's different."

"You sure this is from Castle?" Esposito asks, turning the letter over to see if there's anything written on the back.

"I'm sure. I can hear the words in his voice," Beckett replies. "Plus, it's got his symbol."

"This little scribble at the bottom?" Esposito asks. "I thought that was just a doodle. Figures he'd have a mark."

"I noticed a few differences," Beckett segues into a new conversation before Esposito can say anything derogatory. "It's the first time he's left information we can follow. The name of the arsonist, references to his clientele and his COD. We can run that down."

"Quietly," Ryan amends, getting nods from Beckett and Esposito.

"It also looks like he circled back to leave the letter. Not sure if that's because he wanted to track Ray down first or if he didn't originally intend to leave a note behind here. But," Beckett offers while thinking aloud, "from the tone, I'm guessing he left this after I told him I wanted to help in the investigation."

"' _Happy hunting_ ,'" Esposito says, repeating the closing comments of the letter. "He knows you're working the case."

"And he either doesn't think there's anything to find here," Beckett nods in reply, "or he's encouraging me to help."

* * *

Several days later, Beckett's hopefulness has waned and she finds herself wondering if Castle pointed them at a dead-end. Ray Hudson's a ghost – there's no evidence of him in the system at all. Had Castle not been clear about when the body was fished out of the river, they'd not even have found his John Doe records. How Castle connected that body to Hudson's identity still isn't clear.

The boys are frustrated, too, but not entirely because of this avenue of investigation. After what happened last week, they're anxious to get out of the precinct and the watchful eyes of their colleagues. Not many people know what happened, but the boys are nervous that the few who know will share the news. The story hasn't spread because Gates herself arrived at the scene and scared everyone into silence, but it's only a matter of time before someone blows it.

"I think I've got something," Ryan finally offers, just before lunch. Beckett and Esposito wander over, looking over Ryan's screen shoulder to see his computer screen.

"I gave up on trying to track him down by name," Ryan explains. "Instead, I started looking into insurance claims for losses and business interruptions in the three years leading up to the warehouse fire in Union City. Here they are," he says before hitting a few buttons and displaying a map with locations marked.

"So many," Beckett sighs, seeing red dots all over Queens and Manhattan.

"We can get rid of some of them," Ryan says optimistically. "He was supposed to be a pro, right? Who'd hire a pro for a small claim? So, let's just look at the more expensive claims," he says, hitting a few more keys are removing more than half of the dots. "Still a lot, but it's more manageable."

"So, we look into these places and figure out who benefited?" Esposito asks, nodding along. "We can skip past figuring out who he was and just look into his clients."

"Yeah," Ryan replies. "Union City might not've been the first job he pulled for who we're looking for. Just the last."

On that somber note, Beckett thanks Ryan and turns back toward her desk to help him winnow the list of possible sites of Hudson's mayhem. She's only taken a few steps when she's flagged down by an officer escorting a DHL delivery person. Beckett steps over to the unfortunate courier who's forced to dress in red and yellow. She signs for a parcel about the size that could house some sexy mid-calf boots, but she doubts that's what's inside. As the officer escorts the courier back to the elevator, she turns the box over to find yet another dove gray envelope secured beneath the packing tape. The envelope reads:

 _Ryan and Esposito_

 _Care of Detective Katherine Beckett, 12_ _th_ _Precinct_

"It's for you guys," she says with a nod to her teammates as she takes the box to their joined desks. "Just let me get the letter, first."

Opening a scissors as wide as it will go, Beckett traces the outline of the letter, pulling the rectangular envelope free before stepping aside to let the boys open the box.

 _Beckett,_

 _Maybe taking the money will sound a little more appealing to the boys after their close call? I thought I might need to keep an eye out to ensure their safety, but not from threats like this!_

 _Can you imagine if it had been us, though? I could probably even have overlooked the few ways in which it differed from some of my daydreams of spending time with you._

 _Enjoy the show,_

 _Castle_

"Presents?" Ryan asks as he pulls two lumpy packages from the box. "There's only two – didn't he get you anything?" The question, along with the vibrant wrapping paper, catches the attention of others in the bullpen as well as his boss.

"Mine's in the letter," Beckett replies with a smile, suspecting she knows what's about to happen. "You guys go ahead."

Ryan shrugs and hands the larger package to Esposito. Both tear into the paper while Beckett slyly removes the box. Smiles suddenly turn to looks of panic as the boys try to cover their gifts before any of their curious colleagues notice.

It's too late, of course. Beckett weaves an arm around Esposito and squeezes the plush stuffed tiger that had been wrapped in his package. The tiger lets out a ferocious growl, barely audible over the boisterous laughs of their colleagues.

Esposito looks flummoxed, blushing more radiantly than Beckett can ever recall. Ryan's trying to be clever, using his partner's discomfiture as cover as he slips his hands behind his back and starts to shuffle away from the attention. His careful observation of the group in front of him leaves him blind, however, to Karpowski's sneaky flanking maneuver. Before he knows it, she's tugged his present out of his hands and proudly lifts the plush handcuffs above his head, restarting another round of laughter.

Beckett slips back to her desk as the denizens of the bullpen surround Esposito and Ryan to inspect their gifts and join in the teasing, now that the tiger's out of the bag. She's about to sit in her chair when she's surprised to hear Gates' voice from directly behind her.

"He did seem to enjoy that story," Gates offers slyly before returning to her office, leaving Beckett gaping. She talked to _Castle_ about what happened with the tiger? What in the hell are they doing talking to each other?

* * *

"I'm gonna kill him," Esposito growls the following week as the three return to the precinct after lunch. Ever since Castle's gifts arrived, the boys haven't returned to their desks without finding tiger paraphernalia littered about – stickers, figurines, bean-bag animals, coloring books, even National Geographic prints (one of which Beckett saved for herself). And Frosted Flakes cereal, the one with the animated tiger character – there've been boxes and boxes left for the boys. The break room pantry is filled with the stuff and still it piles up.

Like the rest of them, Esposito's on edge today. They've had a run of bad cases, but what's really bothering them is the tension of suspecting something big is going to happen. Castle's out in California for his book signing today and they're wondering if his return to his former life is a convenient way of establishing an alibi.

Worse, each of them kind of hopes that's what's going on, since their own investigations haven't borne results. Ryan continues to slowly pare down the list of potential Hudson targets, his efforts hampered by shoddy records and short corporate memories for old insurance claims. Esposito's theory that Castle might still be using the secret tunnels to the Haunt hasn't panned out, though there's such a tangled maze beneath the streets in that area it's hard to tell. Beckett's attempts to backtrack any evidence or files relating to Ray Hudson have come up empty. And none of them have been able to find where Castle received medical treatment after his torture this summer.

Settling into their desks, Ryan adds the latest round of tiger props to a bankers box that they'll later drop off with Child Welfare. Turning to paperwork, each detective watches the clock, feeling oddly like they're on a stakeout even though they're sitting in the middle of the bullpen. Gates contributes to the tension by checking in on them several times over the afternoon, never speaking but making it obvious that she's keeping track of them.

It's almost a relief, then, when Gates emerges from her office shortly before quitting time and approaches them.

"Grab your things, we've got a scene," she offers brusquely, barely breaking stride as she heads toward the elevator.

The detectives look at each other in alarm as they realize that Gates will accompany them to wherever they're going. Unwilling to antagonize her at the outset of the journey, they make sure they're at her side when the elevator arrives. A charged silence reigns until they depart the precinct, when Gates informs them that they'll all ride in Beckett's car.

"Lights on, Detective," Gates says as they pull out of the depot, surprising the team anew. Beckett flips on her red-and-blues, which don't help nearly as much as Hollywood movies or television dramas would suggest. Still, every bit helps they crawl through the evening rush.

Gates feeds directions to Beckett throughout the trip, seeming to watch the detective carefully for any signs that the destination is already known. After nearly 45 minutes they arrive at a dockside industrial area. Strobe lights and official vehicles provide the rest of the directions as Beckett delivers the group to a small building behind a waterfront warehouse, probably the machine shop for the forklifts and other equipment used to prepare cargo for transport.

Once out of the car, Gates leads them to the security cordon, where a tall, middle-aged woman in a suit awaits them.

"Eileen," Gates greets, raising a hand.

"Victoria," the woman answers as they shake hands, neither smiling but both apparently comfortable.

"Detectives, this is Eileen Stern, Captain of the 22nd. She has a crime scene for us to inspect. You go on ahead, I need to speak with her."

So, it sounds like Bader and Sands finally turned up, Beckett thinks to herself. She doesn't need to see the quick glances from her teammates to know they're thinking the same thing. Silently, they duck under the yellow security ribbon and make their way inside the machine shop.

A detective and two uniforms from the 22nd linger on the edges of the scene, with two med-techs waiting near the back door. The shop is filthy – grease, oil, and gravel coat the exposed concrete floor and both of the workbenches tucked against the near wall. The air stinks of industrial solvents and the coppery tang of congealed blood.

Finally looking at the scene, Beckett marks four bodies. Two are sprawled nearby, both lying in tarry, red-black pools. Each shows signs of having been rolled and returned into position – the techs must've had to confirm identity, but then they put the victims back in place. It's not standard procedure, nor is leaving the bodies in place for so long. Clearly, this scene has already been logged and processed but was left intact (except for weapons) for the visitors from the 12th.

"This is a setup," Esposito whispers while he kneels beside on of the victims. "They're watching us to see what we do, how we react."

Beckett nods, then breaks away from the boys to walk to the other side of the room where the other two bodies repose. One, a blond woman, lies on her side, the gunshot wounds that ended her life clear on her torso. The other, a man stripped to the waist, remains shackled by one wrist and both ankles to metal fencing that partitioned the workbench from a small area that contains an ancient, soiled cot, a hot-plate, and a transistor radio. The power converter and electrical leads on the workbench, along with the burns, make it clear the man received some back-room electroshock therapy along with other attentions before he died. Cause of death is no mystery, given the two ragged holes in his chest and the river of dried blood that falls away from them.

As Beckett takes in the scene, the boys drift over and separate. Ryan inspects the workbench while Esposito steps into the hovel area. The take in details silently and without touching anything, sure to even keep hands in their pockets since as they know they're being observed.

"Beckett," Esposito whispers so quietly that she barely registers the noise. Turning slowly toward him, she sees his eyes travel to a spot on the floor before he drifts away to return to the first two bodies. Beckett knows his movements are intended to draw attention, so she slowly meanders to where he'd been, letting her eyes drop to where he'd indicated.

It takes her a moment to see what caught his attention. When she does, she's relies on her crime scene experience and fierce detective's demeanor to prevent any kind of visible reaction. There, where the corrugated steel wall meets the utilitarian floor and within arm's reach from the cot, is a small symbol scratched into the wall. It's a symbol she's seen often since her return to the precinct, just below Castle's signature on every letter he's left for her.

Is it a signature for this macabre piece of performance art or is it a remnant of his own time of torture? Could this be the place where he was held for those five, horrible days?

Reminding herself not to draw attention, Beckett turns slowly in place and looks again at the shackled man. Is that where they burned Castle? They could've had him strung up in exactly the same way, facing forward for the burns and backward for the whipping.

Slowly, Beckett walks away from the shackled man and back toward the first victims. After traveling about six feet, she stops and turns toward one of the workbenches she'd noticed on the way in. There, on a shelf below the working surface, lie several spooled extension cords, including one that's had the plug removed and rough end frayed.

Beckett feels her stomach curdle at the sight. This is it, she admits to herself. This is where the people who tried to kill her nearly killed Castle. She should feel bad about the victims strewn around her, but she can't bring herself to think about anything other than the image of that extension cord lacerating her partner's back.

"I'd like to hear your hypothesis about what happened here," Captain Stern says from the doorway, where she'd entered without Beckett's notice. Her question prompts the detectives from the 12th to join Stern and Gates, but no one says a word.

"Detectives?" Gates prompts. "Your evaluation?"

After looking at the stony faces of Esposito and Beckett, Ryan gulps and prepares to offer a theory. Just as he's about to speak, though, Beckett cuts him off with a raised hand.

"I refuse to participate without the presence of legal counsel and my union representative," she says clearly. "And I advise others on my team to do the same."

Stern arches a brow as she inspects Beckett, but she leaves the response to Gates.

"Really?" Gates asks with a forced calm that suggests an approaching explosion. "Lawyers and legal reps can't help you with dereliction of duty."

"This isn't duty," Beckett fires back, the confrontation a welcome respite from thinking about what's happened under this roof. "This is a witch hunt. A fishing expedition."

Gates looks ready to spit, but Stern instead steps in, still leveling an assessing stare. "How so?"

"This is _obviously_ a setup," Beckett answers, her eye roll accentuated by crossed arms and nods from Esposito and Ryan. "This scene is old. You've obviously already processed everything except the bodies, which you left in place far longer than you should have."

Stern nods along. "To what end?"

"You tell me," Beckett shrugs. "This clearly has something to do with Bader and Sands, since we were warned off that case and told you'd be handling it."

"Astute," Stern offers not to Beckett but instead to Gates, who gives a grudging nod in reply. "Okay detectives. I'll answer the question that was posed to you. Here's what we think happened. These two," she says while pointing at the two bodies on the floor, the first victims Beckett inspected, "were interrogating or torturing that guy," she says while pointing to the shackled body. "They leave and she," Stern says while pointing at the female victim, "comes in the back door and tries to free the prisoner. Only one restraint is undone before these two return unexpectedly. Then it's the OK Corral and we're left with four dead bodies."

"At least," Stern adds after a pregnant pause, "that's what we're supposed to think. But there's a problem."

Beckett furrows her brow, turning to take in the scene. It's difficult to take it all in since it's been processed and the weapons have been removed. But something does feel a little strange.

"Nobody missed," Esposito grunts as he makes the connection. Spinning in place, the detectives from the 12th look around the machine shop. Gunfire would've ripped right through the prefabricated walls. But there are no holes behind any of the victims.

"They're good," Stern offers more praise to Gates before turning back to the detectives. "That's right. We've got a torture scene, an interrupted rescue, guns blazing, and perfect, deadly marksmanship. All the brass is accounted for," she offers, letting the detectives know that every shell casing found at the scene was matched to a hit. "You tell me, detectives: what are the odds that not one of these poor, sorry fools missed a shot in the situation suggested by these circumstances."

"Highly unlikely," Ryan offers.

"Damn near impossible," Esposito corrects. "Anyone good enough to shoot like that would've known to move for cover. They wouldn't've all gone down where they were standing."

"Agreed," Stern nods again. "Do you recognize anyone?" When the detectives shake their heads, Stern nods again and wanders over to the first two bodies Beckett inspected. "Bader," Stern says while pointing before moving her hand slightly. "Sands."

Beckett nods, unsurprised. Stern, meanwhile, starts to move toward the other two bodies. "We don't know who they are. No ID and prints aren't in any system we've checked so far. Do you recognize them?"

Again, the detectives shake their heads. This time, though, Stern seems unwilling to let the topic drop. She walks to the shackled man and with no regard reaches up, grabs a handful of hair, and turns the victim's head so his face is more easily seen.

"Detective Beckett," Stern calls out, "are you sure you've never seen this man before?"

"I don't know who that is," Beckett replies, starting to get irritated again. "I don't recall ever seeing him before."

"Well, he's seen you," Stern replies, releasing her grip on the victim's hair and leaving his head cocked at an odd angle. "According to the DNA test, he's the one who saw you through the scope of a sniper rifle."

* * *

A/N: I fear that the delivery timing for this update will be the new norm until late March. Corporate shenanigans and daunting deadlines are stealing much of my time. And, in the few free hours remaining, I've been teaching my daughter to drive on the DC beltway. Terrifying. On the plus side, while I'm sleeping less than when I was a young man, I'm traveling quite a bit, too, so perhaps I can steal some time on long flights to get some writing done.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

 _The fetid stench of congealed blood and panic-sweat clogging her nose, Beckett turns to watch Captain Stern approach the man shackled to the fencing._

" _Detective Beckett," Stern calls out, "are you sure you've never seen this man before?"_

" _I don't know who that is," Beckett replies, feeling her irritation and apprehension grow. "I don't recall ever seeing him before."_

 _Stern walks to the shackled man and with no regard reaches, grabs a handful of hair, and yanks the victim's head so that his vacant, milky blue eyes point directly at Beckett. "Well, he's seen you," she says flatly as she releases her hold, leaving the corpse's head cocked at a nightmarish angle usually reserved for scarecrows. "Every day, from the chair beside your desk."_

"No!" Beckett cries out as she bolts upright in her bed, tangled in her sheets, sweating and panting as if she'd just run for miles.

Kicking violently at her sheets to win her freedom, she nearly tumbles out of bed once she's finally unconstrained. Walking uneasily, she makes her way to the kitchen, bypassing the half-empty bottle of vodka on her counter and instead throwing propriety to the wind as she drinks directly from the kitchen faucet. The cold water feels so good she can't help but shove her whole head beneath the flow, relishing the icy prickles and shivers that travel down her spine and chase the remnants of the nightmare from the darkest corners of her mind.

Of course, now she's screwed. Castle's comments about the Spartan nature of her kitchen come floating back as she realizes her hair is soaked and she doesn't even have a kitchen towel nearby.

"Shut up," she growls at the bottle of vodka as she reaches for the roll of paper towels and revolves the roll around her head. She refuses to be mocked by the alcohol she had the marginal good sense not to fully consume last night. Soring from its abandonment, the bottle's doing its best to make Beckett feel embarrassed about her current predicament.

On more stable footing, Beckett leaves her kitchen behind as she moves to the bathroom for a proper towel. Catching sight of herself in the mirror above the bathroom sink, she can't help the sad sigh that escapes. She looks horrible. It's obvious she suffered through a troubled night, the bags under her eyes and sallow skin apparent. Her makeshift paper towel turban doesn't exactly help, she huffs to herself. On cue, her wet, bedraggled hair finally breaches the paper towel and a long hank thwaps down her forehead, bifurcating her reflection.

Shaking her head free of the head-wrapping proves to be a mistake that almost pitches her onto the floor. She might not've finished the bottle, but she had more than a little to drink last night and is feeling it now. Even worse, the effort was in vain – the drink didn't help purge her mind of the crime scene nor did it help calm her roiling emotions.

She was a mess last night, not that she's better now. But if an emotion is a single note, then yesterday's events resulted in a resonant, two-handed minor chord of misery. She found the place where Castle was tortured. She saw the sign he left, perhaps in an effort to leave his last mark on the world, or a sign to give his loved ones closure. She also saw the bodies that continue to pile up as a result of this case. Four more dead on top of Montgomery and his colleagues. And maybe more – Castle's been frustratingly vague about what happened to the people who were sent to hunt him down. And among the newest casualties, the sniper who, instead of being the culminating event in this tragedy, was only the tip of the spear.

She should feel bad for those who died. It's not yet clear if Bader or Sands were dirty, though the lack of righteous indignation for the murder of the prison guard suggests that the detectives from the 22nd have found something to implicate him. And no one will cry for the murderer who had an unfortunate run-in with karma. But the other two – they had information. They might've had answers for Beckett. And now they're gone.

As she steps beneath the harsh spray of her shower, her thoughts linger on the grim night before. She's getting that sick sense of regret that follows the morning after a serious mistake. Hurrying her ablutions, she cuts her shower short and wraps herself in a towel as she makes her way back to her bedside table, worried about what she's going to find. Cautiously, she reaches out for the communication device Castle left for her, carefully entering her security code and scrolling to the menu that shows sent messages.

 **How could you?  
I deserved answers.  
I deserved a run at him.  
I deserved to see him rot in jail.  
How could you?**

 _Shit_. She barely remembers holding the device last night and can't imagine how she managed to enter the security code to even allow her to send that text. And while the message was true, in a way, it's not the whole story. She _is_ upset and she _does_ feel like she should've had a shot at the man who nearly killed her. But this is the last way to approach Castle – she's been trying to convince him that she can be a partner on this case and the first thing she does is attack him? It's no surprise he hasn't replied yet. He's probably sitting somewhere, shaking his head at what looks like confirmation of his concerns about her lapsing into old habits.

Well, his lack of response gives her a chance to try to clean this up. It was easier to swallow the vodka that it is to swallow her pride. _But maybe the hangover won't be as bad?_

 **I'm sorry, Castle. Old habits die hard, but I'm trying. Call me?**

 _Call me?_ Beckett thinks as she reads her sent text. _Pathetic_. She sounds like an enamored adolescent. But it's still an improvement over last night's message.

She keeps the communication device close at hand, but it remains inert through her morning routine and trip to the precinct. She's sure it looks ridiculous, but the device sits in the middle of her desk as she sets herself up at the precinct, the watched pot that won't boil.

* * *

The altered routine of the precinct helps to distract her from the lack of response from Castle. They've been excluded from what the precinct is calling the "machine shop slaughter." Beckett's team didn't fall for Stern's ruse, but they've still been benched. Even though neither Gates nor Stern have a reason to do anything more, they've apparently decided that throwing a stack of cold cases at Beckett's team is the best way to keep them from getting underfoot.

This works for Beckett. Neither Gates nor Stern realize how much more they know about what's going on. So, the pretense of working on a cold case provides the perfect cover for Beckett's team to compare notes, especially once they move to another infrequently used conference room.

"So, that blonde woman from the crime scene had to be the one who got to Josh, right?" Esposito asks as Ryan closes the door to the conference room, laptop tucked beneath his arm.

"Not wasting any time, eh, Espo?" Beckett replies with a perched brow as she hands out folders for a cold case on the off chance that Gates stops by to check in with them. When he holds her look, she nods her head in agreement. "Yeah, I think that's the most likely explanation. Maybe we can get some confirmation from the 22nd."

"I don't think so," Ryan interjects, shaking his head. "After yesterday's setup, there's no way anyone will talk to us. And there's no way we could trust anyone who did," he continues, getting head nods in return as Beckett and Esposito envision a nice little entrapment scheme from Gates' days in Internal Affairs. "No, I think we'll get confirmation from Castle."

"What?" Beckett asks in surprise, looking again at the communication device she was sure to bring into their meeting. "You've heard from him?"

"No," Ryan admits, "but I've got a theory."

"Oh, boy," Esposito laments, pushing his chair back from the table. "Here we go. Castle Junior's gonna pull out some wannabe conspiracy theory." Any hope that Esposito would relent in this criticisms of Castle disappeared the moment he found himself sprawled out on the floor of the seedy bar in which he'd met one of his old Special Forces buddies. One question about the 'ghost of Tuweitha" and his friend belted him, criticized him for endangering both their lives, and then stalked out. The resulting black eye, and all of the teasing he's gotten as a result, seems to have been added to Castle's tab.

"Yeah, I am," Ryan replies a bit aggressively. "I think Castle's got a mole at the 22nd. Either that," he says to their looks of surprise, "or he's found someone to hack into the NYPD information systems."

"Bro, that is such a load of…"

"Hold up," Beckett interjects, cutting off Esposito's dismissal. "What are you thinking, Ryan?"

"Remember the New Amsterdam?" Ryan asks. Beckett's involuntary shiver provides his answer. "That guy Lynch was linked in to the communications system, you said. He knew what was going on before he showed up."

"Yeah, but…," Esposito starts again, this time before being cut off by his partner.

"And tell me this," Ryan continues. "Imagine you're Castle. You're on this crusade, you've got people working for you, but maybe you don't know them very well or maybe you've got too many leads to chase. What do you do?"

"You free ride," Beckett answers, slowly nodding her head as she thinks about Ryan's theory. "He could look into the ownership and access records of the machine shop himself, or he could get the 22nd to do it for him. If he's connected to their investigation, either with a mole or a hack, then he's got the NYPD doing his work for him."

"So, what's that – 10 to 25 years, depending on whether he's bribing a cop or illegally accessing police records?" Esposito asks, shaking his head.

"Only if he's caught," Ryan answers with a perched brow, "and only if he doesn't have coverage. His new friends seem to have some clout."

"And some muscle," Esposito adds, apparently ready to take the conversation in a different direction. "Didja see what happened to the sniper?" he asks, sending a sympathetic look towards Beckett that looks oddly out of place. "Someone worked him over pretty good, and for days before that little staged scene we saw yesterday. He looked like a pro, but he died clean."

"Which means what?" Beckett asks, wary of the answer she suspects.

"Which probably means he gave it all up, earned a quick end," Esposito answers with a dispassionate shrug while miming two shots with his finger. "If he held out, he prob'ly woulda been unrecognizable in that machine shop. It's not like leaving him unmarred made him any easier to identify."

Rather than satisfaction that Esposito's thoughts followed the same path she'd been considering or hope that she'll get answers, Beckett instead feels a sick sense of foreboding. If this theory is right, then it's increasingly difficult to imagine Castle wasn't involved. She'd said it herself – she told Espo that Castle learned from what happened with Coonan and would find a way to extract the information he needs.

Even worse, the timeline works. If the sniper was tortured days before he died in the machine shop, then Castle could've been involved before heading west for the promotional event that provided his alibi for what happened in the machine shop. He'd warned her that he's done terrible things. Now, she's starting to worry about the state of his soul even if his body survives this quest.

Almost as if triggered by her line of thought, the communication device on the table chirps and startles all three detectives. Blushing slightly and trying to mask her eagerness to read his reply (and hoping it's a reply to the message she sent this morning, not the one from last night), Beckett lifts the device and types in her access code.

 **Complications in CA. We'll talk when I can get back to NYC. Before then, warn everyone – it's time to take precautions. They're going to hit back. Talk to your dad. My offer for the team is still open.**

Beckett stares at the message and rereads it several times despite its brevity. She can't tell which of her messages prompted his reply, but maybe it doesn't matter. Now she's worried his trip backfired – to establish an alibi for the machine shop, Castle made his event in California public. But that meant the people looking for him knew where to find him. It makes her that much more anxious to speak with him again.

"Something bad?" Ryan asks, concerned by the way Beckett's staring at the message.

"Not sure," she answers, passing the communication device. "All he said was that there were 'complications.' You know him and his word choice – that could mean just about anything."

Ryan nods, hands the device to Esposito, and turns to his laptop. After booting up and pecking at the keys, he opens an internet browser and pulls up the fan site they'd looked at back when they were trying to find Castle.

"Oh, damn," he mutters as he spins the laptop to face Beckett. The garish red text indicates a hastily-added update on the webpage. Beckett's first though upon reading the headline of the update is that Castle would be disappointed in the writing of his fans: " _Master or Magnet of the Macabre? Castle involved in another car accident_."

Beckett tugs the computer over to her and opens another browser window, scouring websites for details. After a few minutes she gasps and pushes the computer away from herself. Craning their necks to get a view of the screen, the boys see the overhead view of a Lincoln Town Car that went through the guardrail and into the canyon beside the road. Only the rear of the vehicle is clear in the photo from the _L.A. Times_ , but even that is enough to show the car suffered significant damage on its trip down into the canyon.

"Damn," Esposito emits, sounding mildly impressed. "That's a hell of a complication."

"The article says 'the driver sustained minor injuries,' but doesn't identify anyone," Beckett offers, sounding like she's trying to convince herself. "But they'd probably say that regardless of what really happened."

While Beckett lapses into silent contemplation of this mess, Ryan pulls his computer back and visits a few websites himself. After a little surfing, he huffs and sits back to look at Beckett.

"He's got a beard now," he says with a nod toward the screen. Leaning in, Beckett sees amateur footage someone must've captured with a cellphone at his signing. From the clip, it looks like Castle was trying to soak up the local culture and got pulled off the beach just in time for his event: instead of the usual blazer and dress shirt, he attended in a linen shirt with a banded collar. He's letting his hair grow out, so it's a little longer than she remembers. And, as Ryan mentioned, he's sporting a well-trimmed beard. And he's either a great actor or the signing was a welcome diversion, based on his wide smile and engaged demeanor. The video ends when the person who filmed it reaches the front of the line and steps forward with book extended. Castle reaches for the book and looks directly into the phone, so the last frame of the video shows him looking straight into the camera. To Beckett, it feels like he's looking right at her.

"Anything more about what happened to him?" Beckett asks, still staring into the eyes on the screen.

"Just speculation," Ryan acknowledges. "He'd better have his agent release a statement, because the stories are already getting pretty bizarre."

"I'm sure he'll get a kick out of them," Beckett smiles, hoping her errant partner is in shape to laugh at some of the absurdity. She'd feel a lot better if she'd heard from him.

"Gates is coming," Esposito warns, slyly moving the files on the table to make it look like they've been working on their assigned cold case. Ryan, meanwhile, opens a tab that's already got some generic notes to make it look like they've been diligently at work.

Gates doesn't bother to knock, instead swinging the conference door open wide and stepping in. She takes a moment to survey the scene, taking note of the files and Ryan's computer. Apparently satisfied, she turns to Beckett while extending a post-it note with a scribbled address.

"You're back on the rotation, but none of you are to contact the 22nd precinct for any reason," Gates explains tersely. "Here's the address of your new case. Tread lightly, detectives. The victim is Laura Cambridge, 28. She was found in one of the cars assigned to the mayor's office."

* * *

A/N: Just a short chapter this week. As expected, work has been brutal. I've not slept this little since I was just out of school (including when my kids arrived!). I'd hoped to get the next two chapters out together, but thought it would be better to post incrementally rather than bank things for at least another week. St. Patrick's Day still looks like the end of this current crush of work, so I'm hopeful that I can pick up the writing pace after a little celebration.

To all my fanfic writer friends, I owe you an apology: I'm _way_ behind on reading. I've got 15 chapters queued up, including the concluding chapters to some stories I've really enjoyed. Trust me, I'm looking forward to catching up! And to my famous move-script writing friend, apologies for not getting this chapter posted in time for your flight.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

A/N: In the midst of the hasty posting I forgot one note of relevance in chapter sixteen. Tricky readers recognized the 'Dial M for Mayor' reference at the end of the previous chapter. That's another (brief) dive into canon, except that I've moved it up so that it followed Cops & Robbers. The timing significance is noted below.

* * *

"Katie! You're early," Jim Beckett beams at her as he pulls the door open and ushers her inside.

"Sorry, Dad," Beckett replies nervously, casting a quick look around. "Thought it might take me a while to find the photo album I want," she explains inanely as she strides past her father and waits for him to close the door.

"That wasn't a complaint," Jim offers with a crooked smile. "You know I'm always happy to see my girl. And on a work morning – there's a nice way to start the day! Now, which photo album did you say you wanted to borrow?"

Feeling strangely guilty that she's about to rain on his parade, Beckett approaches her father with arms outstretched. As they embrace, Beckett turns her cheek to whisper into her father's ear.

" _We need to get out of here_ ," she offers quietly while grasping him tight to dissuade him from objecting aloud, just in case there are any listeners. " _One bag, take what's most important to you. We can get clothes later_." Feeling horrible about the tension she can feel gripping her father, she offers her last instruction. " _Ten minutes – we should be gone in ten minutes_."

With that, Beckett cautiously releases her father and takes a step back to get a good look at his face and gauge his reaction.

At first, he looks horribly confused. That morphs quickly into skepticism, which in turn slips to worry. As he opens his mouth to speak, Beckett's wondering if she should clamp a hand over his mouth to protect them both.

"You can't get away that easily," he admonishes, leaving her perplexed until she realizes that her father's a pretty sharp guy and is following her lead in case they're being overheard. "I've got piles and piles of your old things lying around. If you want the photo album," he says sternly while casting her a look of grim determination, "then you've got to take a suitcase with some of your other things that keep cluttering up my place."

"Guess I've got no excuse," Beckett laments while giving her father a thankful look. "There's room at my apartment. But _just one bag_!" she warns him, serious in the desire to travel light. "My place is small and whatever you pack has to ride around in the trunk of my cruiser until my shift's done."

"You'll be amazed at how much I can squeeze into one bag," her father calls out as he moves towards the closet to retrieve a soft-sided suitcase. "I'll _finally_ get some of my shelf and closet space back."

"More to clean," Beckett offers with a shrug as she watches him pack, all the while fighting the urge to search his place for listening devices or to stride over to the window and twitch the curtains aside to see if anyone's keeping watch on them.

After that, their forced (though surprisingly normal-sounding) banter ebbs as Jim furiously scurries to evaluate which of his possessions are the most important. Beckett feels her heart crack as she watches him work through the hierarchy of his needs. Photos go in first, though he places several on the chair next to her and asks with a pointed finger for her to free them from their frames. Two photo albums are next, after which he leaves the living room and heads toward the bedroom. Realizing it might be inappropriate, Beckett can't help but trail behind and keep him in sight.

Jim heads to his bedside table. From within, he pulls out a letter-sized box. Mementos of her mother, Beckett's certain, averting her gaze to allow her father a modicum of privacy. He's on the move, grabbing some underclothes that he uses to pad the area around the box within the suitcase. More items from the drawer in the bedside table are added to the suitcase with a sigh. Then, Jim looks up and gives his daughter a nod. Apparently, the emotional baggage is packed, now it's time for the more mundane items. Beckett excuses herself and drifts to the kitchen to fix them both some coffee.

"I'll make some coffee," she announces in case anyone's listening. "Then, I'll give you a ride to your office."

Minutes later, they're in Beckett's cruiser and on the move. Beckett holds the route to her father's office as long as possible before diverting to her true destination. Her father, who is quiet but tense, casts her a look but knows better than to say anything. He remains silent even as Beckett pulls into an 'Official Use Only' pullout a block from their destination.

"Hurry," she urges as she launches from the car on the way to grab his suitcase from the trunk. He's still getting out of the cruiser when his daughter pulls aside him and refuses to hand over the suitcase. Leading him at a brisk pace, Beckett enters the flow of pedestrian traffic and is swept down the stairs beneath Madison Square Garden to access the rail lines of Penn Station below.

Glancing quickly at the big board, Beckett cringes. They're cutting things close. Nearly at a trot, she leads her father to a self-service Amtrak kiosk.

"Quick," she urges. "But a ticket for the Acela to Boston. The one that's leaving in ten minutes."

Jim complies, reacting more to his daughter's tone than her instructions. After he's selected the ticket and swiped his credit card, Beckett pulls the card from his grasp and grabs his wallet, too.

"I'll hold onto this," she says as she tucks his wallet into her purse before replacing it with a new one. Then, she grabs the ticket from the kiosk and pulls her father away from the boarding line. Jim's about to ask why they're moving away from the track at which his train is loading when he sees a familiar face approaching them.

"Cuttin' it close, Beckett," Esposito says as he approaches.

"Probably for the best, as long as you make it aboard," she nods as she hands him Jim's ticket. Someday Amtrak might actually check IDs for train travel, but thankfully not yet. "Thanks, Espo."

"No problem. Stay safe," he mumbles as he heads for the boarding line. Beckett, meanwhile, restarts her father with a tug on the arm.

"I'm not going to Boston?" he asks, trying to catch up with what's going on.

"No," Beckett explains, "but we need people to think you are for a little while. I know this is unusual, dad, and I'll explain as soon as we get out of here. Just give me another five minutes."

Jim nods though it's unnecessary, since it's obvious that his daughter is neither listening nor awaiting his consent. As they move through the train station, Jim catches sight of Detective Ryan, who's lounging against the wall, apparently watching to ensure no one is following them. His daughter leads them by without acknowledging her teammate, which is another sign to her father that whatever's going on is serious.

Finally, the Becketts are in ensconced in the comfortable anonymity of a cab, making their way away from the station. With luck, anyone following them either got lost in the train station or jumped the train to Boston.

"When Castle told you he was 'going away,'" Beckett begins her explanation, instantly catching her father's attention, "he was protecting his family. While we were at the cabin, the people who tried to kill me kidnapped him. They… did things to him and threatened his daughter. Since then, he's focused everything on hiding his redheads and tracking down the people who hurt us."

"By _himself_?" Jim groans as he wilts before his daughter.

"I'm trying to help, but he's been a couple steps ahead of me the whole time," Beckett confesses, some of her consternation showing through.

"So, we're going to see him now?" Jim asks, wondering about all the subterfuge.

"No," Beckett answers, knowing this is the weak part of her plan, since she's assumed her father's willing participation. "We're going to see one of his attorneys. He's got a job for you, something that'll explain your absence from the city but get you hidden away. We need you to disappear, go somewhere no one would think to find you."

Jim doesn't react for a moment, instead looking out the front windshield of the taxi. As she looks at him, Beckett realizes that he _is_ reacting – the muscles of his jaws are clenched tight, probably from the effort of keeping his mouth shut as he considers what's going on.

"I didn't notice your suitcase," he finally emits in a flat tone, knowing there wasn't one to see.

"Because I'm not leaving," she agrees, speaking a little too fiercely and feeling oddly like a teenager asserting her independence again. "I can't leave," she continues, softening her tone. "We talked about this before – Castle wouldn't be in this mess if not for me. I'm not going to leave him again."

Jim chews on that declaration but ultimately lets it go. Beckett suspects his acquiescence stems more from her tone that his agreement with her course of action, but she's happy to avoid an argument in either case.

The last ten minutes of their ride pass in silence, though father and daughter still manage to connect. Once it was clear that her father wasn't going to challenge her decision, Beckett clasped his arm and let her head rest on his shoulder. She can't recall the last time she took such unadorned comfort from his presence. From the way he cuddled her in, she suspects his father shares her sentiments.

But, the ride comes to an end as Beckett directs the cab into the parking garage of a Manhattan skyscraper, providing the driver with a one-time-use code to get them into the garage. It's yet another layer of security, one that's probably unnecessary but appreciated nonetheless.

A tense elevator ride brings them to a floor where the offices are unmarked. Checking the text from Castle again, she approaches a nondescript door and knocks, stepping back quickly and pulling her sidearm, just in case. Jim looks on in shock, never having seen his daughter draw her weapon or look so ready to use it.

The door opens promptly, revealing a middle-aged man with bushy brown hair, a protuberant nose, and thumb-thick eyebrows that skyrocket when he sees the business end of Beckett's gun.

"Veritable," he says after gulping loudly, his voice still warbling.

"Fallacious," Beckett replies, providing the countersign. With that, she holsters her weapon and turns to collect her very confused father.

"Henry Sorokin," the man introduces himself after the Becketts step through the door. "You must be Kate and Jim Beckett."

"What, no code names?" Jim asks with some perplexity as he extends a hand in greeting.

Henry laughs but doesn't otherwise address Jim's comment. Instead, he turns, shakes Beckett's hand, then takes an anticipatory gulp before addressing her.

"Detective, I think it's time for you to leave."

"What?" Jim asks, wondering why he's suddenly being cast adrift.

"He's right, dad," she tries to soothe. "It's better if I don't know the details. Just…," she trails off and curses herself as she sees his realization, "…just in case. But don't worry," she hastens to add. "Henry will give you something that'll allow us to send messages to each other," she finishes, trying to sound cheerful. Meanwhile, she wonders about the wisdom of getting texts from Castle and her father on the same device. She's already suffered one misfire using the device – the last thing she needs is another error, especially one that sends a text to the wrong man. Better double the length of the password, she thinks wryly to herself.

"So this is goodbye," Jim articulates as Henry steps away to afford them some privacy. "For how long?"

"Not long," Beckett tries to assure her father, but he's not buying it. "Things are accelerating. The end is coming soon."

She hasn't spoken to Castle about this, but she knows him well. He wouldn't have told her to get her dad to safety unless things were dire. The scene in the machine shop and the attack on Castle in California suggest that the stakes are rising. She also knows that her partner has a goal in mind. Not Christmas – as much as he loves that holiday, that's not his target. But there are two other possibilities. The romantic in him probably holds out hope that Ryan's wedding can happen as planned. The writer in him probably wants things to culminate on January 9th, the anniversary of her mother's death. She hopes it's the former, but she'll live with either if it means this will all end.

Jim nods and moves to stand before his daughter. He tries to speak but seems to choke on the words as he looks at her. Instead, he draws her into a hug, where he can speak into her hair without looking into her eyes.

"The last time we were in a situation like this," he whispers, "I placed a terrible burden on Rick. I won't do the same to you. Please be safe. Please do everything you can to come back." Then, worried his message isn't getting through, he tries one more time. "Jo would want love, not vengeance."

"I know," Beckett sniffles, her head tucked into her father's neck, "and I love you, dad. We'll be careful. I'll keep us safe."

Silence reigns as both Becketts try to figure out how she can live up to that promise. Henry's shuffling reminds Jim that it's time to go.

"I love you, too, Katie-Bug. Be good," he admonishes lightly.

Beckett gives a tearful chuckle, remembering these recycled words as his farewell after dropping her at Stanford for her freshman year.

"Good?" she gamely replies, recycling her own words of bravado from back then. "They won't know what hit 'em."

* * *

With a long, sad sigh, Beckett bangs her head lightly on the steering wheel of her cruiser.

It's been a horrible day. Packing her father off to go into hiding wasn't a great start. Then, once she'd managed a short panic attack in the nondescript parking garage, she retrieved her car and returned to the Cambridge case, where it looks increasingly likely that Castle's friend, the mayor New York City, is connected to and maybe even responsible for the murder.

With another sigh, she starts the car and pulls into the slow crawl of traffic, opting to head for home rather than the precinct. It's late and she needs to think carefully about how to proceed. A quick call to Gates to report in leaves Beckett looking like she swallowed a lemon, but at least she won't compound today's stress by enraging her boss.

"Do you need a corroborating witness?"

Beckett struggles to wrestle her car back into its lane while simultaneously trying to reach for her weapon and looking to the rear-view mirror. There, grinning like a jackass from the back seat of her cruiser, is her wayward partner. He looks ruffled, and she's not sure she likes the beard, but he still looks wonderful.

"Seriously, Victoria and I are best pals. I can put in a good word for you."

"Castle!" Beckett can't help but shout, her adrenaline pumping and body trying to figure out how to deal with it. "You know it's not a good idea to startle a cop or a driver, right? What are you doing back there?"

"Oh, please," Castle replies with a smirk and an airy wave of his left hand. "You can't honestly tell me you're surprised to see me in the back of a police car," he teases while rolling his eyes. "This is hardly virgin territory for me."

"My mind shudders to think of what runs through yours with the phrase ' _virgin territory_ ,'" she snarks, glad beyond words to have him beside – or in back of – her.

"It damned well better refer to Alexis' residence hall."

His rejoinder makes her laugh, but her chuckles curdle once loosed. Alexis shouldn't be in a residence hall yet. She should be back in the loft, tucked safely into the leather opulence and warm firelight. Instead, she's been stashed in a foreign country under a false name to protect her safety.

"Get up here, Castle," Beckett encourages instead, unwilling to have a conversation while casting glances in the rear-view mirror. In fact, why are they talking in the car anyway?

"Uh, I can't really climb over the seats," Castle admits. "And I'm not sure I should draw attention by moving up to the front seat at the next stoplight. Can you imagine? Someone would think I was a convict commandeering a police vehicle. That would get us some unwanted attention."

So, he's hurt. Castle's a big kid – regardless of safety, he'd normally not have a problem climbing over the seats to reach the front of the car. The movements of his left hand must be in lieu of using his dominant hand. Looks like he's still healing from his trip to California.

"Where can we go? Not the Haunt," Beckett thinks aloud.

"Believe it or not, I'm running short on locations for clandestine meetings. Unless…," Castle chuckles as he trails off.

"I am _not_ going back to the machine shop," Beckett declares. "Thinking of you there already gives me nightmares. I don't want to go back."

Risking a quick glance in the mirror, Beckett notes Castle's look of surprise at her comment. He can't really be surprised about how that scene affected her, can he? Maybe he's just surprised she confessed a weakness in front of him.

"Not the machine shop," he agrees quietly. "I don't ever want to go back, either."

Beckett refrains from asking him when he was last there, not wanting to ruin the mood or prompt and admission she'd need to follow.

"No, I've got another place. What the hell," he says with a cavalier chuckle, "it's not like you'll really be surprised. You've seen me at my worst. Take your next left."

Maddeningly, Castle doesn't tell her where they're going. She's so happy at seeing him whole that she doesn't complain much, though she's reserved the right to come back to this later. Instead, she dutifully follows his directions until she finds herself in another parking garage, the second one of the day. Instead of an office building, though, this garage services an exclusive four-star hotel.

"Go to the lobby and ask for the manager," Castle says as she pulls up to the valet area. "Tell him you need a room for the Moriarty-Pym wedding. Then text me the room number."

"You must be joking," Beckett growls as she steps out of the car and realizes what's going on.

Castle shrugs, which seems to cause him some discomfort. "I've got to use all the tools at my disposal. You can cover your face if that helps, or call the manager from one of the house phones."

Not dignifying his suggestions with a reply, Beckett spins on her heel and heads toward the entry door, handing her keys to the parking attendant and trusting Castle to collect the claim check. She strides into the lobby wearing her full Detective persona, here to kick ass rather than engage in some tawdry affair.

Her scowl has the manager scurrying over before she needs to ask for him.

"How may I help you?" he asks, the picture and voice of smooth assurance and competence.

Despite the urge to pull her badge, Beckett instead swallows her pride and misgivings. "I'm here for the Moriarty-Pym wedding," she offers tersely, watching the manager carefully for the slightest smirk or wink.

But he's a consummate professional. "Of course," he nods as he offers an elbow and escorts Beckett toward an unused registration desk. He stops and steps away only long enough to program two card keys before he's again at her side and leading her to an elevator.

"I wasn't sure the Moriarty-Pym wedding was going to happen," he whispers confidentially as he presses the elevator call button. "It's been _years_ since the reservation was made," he says idly while restraining himself from looking at her to see if she understands what he's saying, "and I wondered if we'd ever see it. Perhaps…," he speculates as the elevator arrives and the doors start to open, "additional time was necessary to prepare the way for an appropriate celebration now."

The manager steps onto the elevator with Beckett, but uses his left hand to ensure that the doors don't close while he's still in the car. Inserting a card key in the console, he presses the button for the top floor before handing the card keys to Beckett.

"Room 23 on that floor," he offers. "My name is Devin if you need anything. Once I leave, you can ask for Neville. Please," he offers as he steps out of the elevator and allows the doors to close, "enjoy your stay."

* * *

A/N2: I'm back! Real life deadlines are officially behind me, though one held on a little longer than expected. So, I'm still catching up on good stories, though I'm slowly catching up. I had also hoped to post two chapters tonight. That's not going to happen (and the weekend looks busy), but I'm more than halfway through the next chapter, so wait for the next chapter will be shorter than it was for this time around.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

Checking into a ritzy hotel under the guise of Castle's latest conquest wasn't really as mortifying as she expected, Beckett muses as the elevator ascends. Still, she's not happy Devin thinks she's here for an illicit assignation. He must know Castle's involved. That's where the name comes from – 'Moriarty' from Arthur Conan Doyle and 'Pym' from Edgar Allan Poe. Trust Castle to incite a little chaos by suggesting a union that would've raised more than a few Victorian eyebrows. Rather than think about how many others have attended this 'wedding,' Beckett uses the ascent to wonder how many people have arrangements like this at various hotels around the city. It's daunting, really, contemplating the carnal depths to which the rich and famous might sink.

Finally arriving at the top floor, Beckett belatedly realizes she needs to tell Castle where to meet her. She texts him the information before slowly wandering down the hall, following the placards that direct her to the room.

She gasps slightly once she's entered room, shocked by the size and magnificence. It's not a suite – there's still just one room – but it's spacious and designed to impress. The bed is enormous, clearly the centerpiece of the room even without considering the canopy or the raised platform on which it resides. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a view of the western horizon, which probably allows for the viewing of a glorious sunset from anyone in the bed who's not distracted by other activities. Too bad it's already dark outside.

She's still marveling at the bed when a soft rapping at the door catches her attention. Her body moves toward the door even as her mind lingers on the bed.

"So," she asks as she opens the door to Castle's curiously anxious look, "are you Moriarty or Pym?"

"Trying to bustle me off to the altar?" he chuckles as he walks in. "Sorry, Detective, but I don't get married until the third date."

"That explains a lot," she huffs as she closes the door and turns to face him. Now that they're finally together, she's not sure what to say. Until she looks at him closely and realizes why he hasn't been shaving. Instinctively, she reaches for his cheek and starts an unexpected chain reaction.

Startled by her movement, Castle flinches away as his left hand shoots toward his right wrist. Before he realizes that her movement was innocuous, he's stepped back a pace and Beckett can see something peeking out from his right cuff.

"Sorry," he apologizes with a blush. "I'm a little jumpy these days."

Beckett nods but remains silent as she closes the distance between them. She lifts her hand toward his face again, moving slowly to avoid another skittish reaction. Ever so lightly, she cups his cheek before gently turning his head. Beckett lets her fingers dust over the thin, horizontal scar that underlines the distance from his cheekbone to his ear.

Castle's eyes had drifted closed at her gentle touch. She waits until he opens them again so her wide, piercing look can ask the question she can't force from her throat.

"He left scars on both of us."

Beckett sighs at this confirmation of her fears. Her shooter might be dead, but the pain and damage he created still linger. And as much as she wants his specter to drift away, she still wants answers.

Casting her eyes around the room, she finally notices what's missing: chairs. There's one over in the corner tucked beneath a small desk. Apparently the hotel thought each room should have a desk, though Beckett doesn't imagine much office work gets done in this room. So, with a smirk to bolster her confidence, she steps lightly over to the bed, her boot heels tapping as she climbs the three steps of the pedestal. With a curious Castle watching quietly, she sits on the foot of the bed to remove her boots before clambering up to rest her back against the headboard, still fully clothed and above the covers.

"Will you tell me about it?" she asks, looking at her wayward partner before moving her head to look at the vacant spot on the bed next to her.

Castle looks confused. The salacious part of his mind is probably at odds with the secretive side, resulting in near stasis. Finally, some autonomic reflex seems to fire as he makes his way silently to the bed. He repeats her process and removes his shoes before slowly easing himself into position, moving slowly to avoid knocking his back against the headboard all while favoring his arm.

Beckett reaches to the side and flicks the switch, dropping the room into darkness. With the curtains and sheers pulled open, ambient light trickles in to provide only the dimmest illumination. She hopes the darkness will make it easier for Castle to talk. Her hand that silently grasps his will help, too.

"I'd hoped Bader and Sands would give me leads to follow," he starts quietly. "And I guess they did, in a way. They'd been involved but didn't really know much. Even so, someone was worried about what they might say. So, Ms. Taylor was sent to find them and ensure they couldn't talk."

"She's the blond from the machine shop?" Beckett asks, wary of breaking the flow but needing to make sure she's following the story.

"Yeah, though she's probably got other names, too," Castle admits quietly. "Anyway, it turns out I was tracking her while she was tracking them. We finally ended up in the same place," he adds with a huff, "and she led me to your shooter. He wasn't a nice guy," Castle understates quietly, "and it was difficult to take him alive. But I'll take the scar in exchange for ending his part in this whole mess."

His terse explanation prompts more questions than it answers. Rather than dive right into what she really wants to know, she needs to poke at what Castle tried to gloss over.

"Nice try, Castle," she teases gently, reaching for the tone of their old banter. "But I sense a story. How did you and Taylor end up in the same place?"

Castle sighs and lets his head thump against the headboard. "Bader and Sands lured her in but she wouldn't bite. She knew where they were but never entered the building. I was afraid she was going to call in backup, so I let her see me walking into a bar in the neighborhood. She followed and tried to 'interrogate' me as she'd done to others."

"So," Beckett replies while blocking the images from her mind, "she was the one they sent for Josh? And you let her pick you up?"

"I let her lead me out of the bar," he agrees. "As to what happened afterward, it didn't exactly work out as she hoped. A whole different kind of ' _wham, bam, thank you, ma'am_.'"

"I don't suppose there's any purpose in pointing out how dangerous that was?" Beckett sighs, running her free hand through her hair.

"All part of the plan," Castle demurs quietly.

"And she led you to my shooter?" Beckett asks after a long pause. She wants to know more, but wants to get to her more pressing questions before Castle grows reticent.

Castle replies with a nod.

"And you captured him, during which you were injured?"

Castle nods again.

"And you interrogated him? And staged a crime scene? And scheduled an event in California to provide an alibi?"

After a pause, Castle nods again, but remains quiet.

" _Why_?!" Beckett asks in a heartrending whisper as she drops Castle's hand. "Why did you do this alone? I should've been there, Castle. I should've seen him. I should've…"

"You should've what, Kate?" Castle interrupts, his own voice low but fierce. "Captured him? Interrogated him? Tortured him?" Castle asks, sounding more out of breath with each question. "Killed him?"

"I should've said goodbye," she whispers after a long pause. "I should've let him know he didn't get away with it, that he was finished here and mom would take care of him on the other side."

"We both know he and your mom aren't in the same place," Castle replies with certainty. "As for the rest… you didn't get to say goodbye," Castle confesses, "but he knew the rest. He knew why the end came for him."

"Did he say anything," Beckett asks with maudlin curiosity, "offer up any final words?" When Castle stills at her side, she knows she's stumbled onto something. Castle's trying to protect her, but she wants to hear it. " _What did he say_?"

With her eyes adjusted to the dark, Beckett can make out enough of his expression to see Castle's thinking. Apparently, her tormentor said quite a lot and Castle's trying to decide how to answer her question. Finally, with a sigh, he offers an answer.

"He didn't apologize," Castle offers with some sympathy. "He said someone else would've taken the job if he hadn't. The last thing he said," Castle pauses, wondering how this next bit will go, "was a request. He said ' _Tell her she's a fighter. She should be dead. Wish her good luck_.'"

Good luck. In other words, Beckett thinks to herself, now that her shooter is gone, someone else will come for her. And if he's taken out, then someone else. There's some sick line of deviants willing to kill someone for a paycheck. And if they keep coming, one of them will finally get lucky and finish what her shooter – or Coonan, really – started.

With sickening predictability, her pulse starts to accelerate as her breathing grows shallow. She can feel the leading edges of another panic attack, and feeling it coming only makes it worse. The attacks are bad enough on their own, but here she sits next to Castle, the last person she wants to see her this way. How is she going to convince him to share the investigation, to finally cede some control back to her, if she breaks down right here?

Thinking about Castle and the investigation is the worst way she could've dealt with the incipient attack. Instead of grasping for a mitigation technique, she's actually increased her level of anxiety. Her grim realization is the last conscious thought before her world goes black.

* * *

Some indeterminate time later, Beckett slowly comes back to herself as her senses come back online sequentially. It's the constant, reassuring thump of a strong heartbeat that she first recognizes, the gentle lub-dub acting as an aural beacon. Next is smell, the tantalizing scent she remembers from the precinct and that she chases with an old, purloined shirt. As she recalls the shirt, she recognizes hand movements on her own, gentle circular patterns that soothe and ground her. Finally, sight. She opens her eyes slowly and sees Castle's neck. She's curled sideways on his lap, head pressed into the crook of his neck, sheltering from her own personal storm.

Throwing pride or propriety or caution to the wind, Beckett stays in place. She hates that she appeared weak in front of him, but that damage is done. For a few, indulgent moments she's going to soak up the peace and affection he's offering.

Ten minutes later, Beckett can't manufacture any more excuses to remain in place. She's also becoming increasingly concerned that she might fall to temptation and add taste to her sensory explorations since her lips are so perilously close to Castle's neck. So, regretfully, she slowly untucks from his embrace and excuses herself, heading toward the restroom to clean herself up.

Not surprisingly, the bathroom is another little slice of heaven. It's fully stocked, boasts sinfully thick towels resting on a heated bar, and features a tub that was clearly intended for use by more than one person. On another day…

It takes her longer to collect herself and clean up than she'd prefer. When she finally steps out of the restroom, she's surprised to see Castle's closed the blinds and illuminated the room. Concerned their time together might be drawing to a close, she's about to ask about his plans for the evening when a knock at the door startles her. Her gun is in her hand almost without thought, leading to a boyish smirk from her partner.

"That should be dinner," he teases as he walks by, pausing long enough to clasp her shoulder and rub the top of her arm. "Let's not threaten the poor delivery kid with mortal peril until we taste the food."

Rolling her eyes, Beckett holsters her weapon and turns in place, again lamenting the lack of a sitting area as Castle shoves some money at the pimpled delivery boy and takes command of the cart. As he notices the same paucity of dining locations, he shrugs and pushes the cart to the bottom of the steps, figuring they can have a picnic on the foot of the bed.

"What did you get us?" Beckett asks, suddenly remembering the lunch she skipped.

"I have no idea," Castle laughs. "I just told them there was a $200 tip waiting if they could get me tasty food for two within fifteen minutes. I suspect we're dining on the food ordered by guests with more foresight than me."

"It'll taste that much better as a result," Beckett laughs, climbing up on the bed and embracing the picnic theme.

One shared steak, salad, and bottle of red wine later, Castle carefully collects the dishes from the bed and pushes the cart back into the hallway. Beckett watches with a furrowed brow, remembering her conclusions in the car and thinking about how he must've pulled her onto his lap during her panic episode.

"What happened in California?" Beckett asks as Castle reenters the room. "I mean with the injuries, not the signing."

"I had to crash the car," Castle answers in a curious mix of excitement and petulance.

"What do you mean, ' _had to_?'" Beckett asks, already surprised by the answer.

"We thought we were ready," he explains. "My car had safety reinforcements and there was another car behind me. We figured the best way to see who was after me was to let them think they'd got me and follow 'em," Castle explains with a slow shrug. "So, my job was to bash the cars up, find a decent place to crash, and not die."

"Did it work?" Beckett asks, shaking her head about foolhardy risks.

"Nope," he replies glumly. "The guy who got me pulled into a private lot and turfed his car. By the time we got to it, he was gone and the car was torched. The only good that came of the whole thing is that I've got the experience to write an excellent car chase. Hollywood gets it _so_ wrong."

"Seems like meager recompense for crashing into a canyon," Beckett teases, trying to pull a smile out of him. After his chuckle indicates a slight improvement in his mood, Beckett decides to push her look. "So, let's see it," she says with a raised brow. "You've been favoring your arm all day. Let's see what kind of damage you've done to yourself."

"Yeah, right," Castle laughs, shaking his head before affecting a pious tone. "You're just trying to take advantage. I'll only show you mine," he says with a leer, "if you show me yours."

It's not the opening she thought she was looking for, but she doesn't even need to consider his offer before acting on it. Must be the room and the wine. Or maybe it's just seeing him again.

"Okay," she replies easily, dismounting the bed and walking toward him with her hands already unfastening the buttons at the top of her shirt.

"Wait, _what_?!" Castle stutters in alarm, casting his eyes around the room as if this is some kind of prank. "I was just kidding, Beckett," he offers in a small, uncertain voice as he backpedals both by word and physical proximity.

"I wasn't," she answers as she slowly stalks him, continuing to work down the line of buttons and laughing as he backs into the wall. He flinches again as she reaches for him, though this time she merely grabs his hand and pulls him back toward the bed.

His reticence is cute but not really flattering, she thinks as she tugs again to get him up the steps to the bed. As a result, her shove to his sternum that knocks him onto the foot of the bed might be a little more vigorous than was required.

He's still levering himself upright on the foot of the bed when Beckett lets her shirt flutter off her shoulders. She curses herself for the utilitarian bra she chose today, but, really, there was no way of anticipating anyone would see it. Besides, she rather suspects Castle's attention will be focused elsewhere.

Looking down, she sees that her guess was right. Despite years of banter suggesting otherwise, Castle's not ogling her cleavage. Instead, his eyes are focused between her breasts, inspecting the damage left behind by the sniper's bullet. When she'd thought – in her private daydreams – about the scenarios in which Castle might see her scars, she never imagined a scenario like this. She's worried endlessly about how he might react – with disgust? Guilt? Nausea?

His look encompasses an array of reactions, but none consistent with her fears. Sorrow is certainly apparent, as is pain. Anger, usually an odd look for him, makes an appearance, but she suspects it's more of a righteous indignation. Shockingly, though, the emotion that seems closest to the surface look more like awe. That, and something else she can't quite identify.

" _You're so strong_ ," he exhales in a reverent whisper.

His praise catches her short, leaves her fighting back tears. While she's blinking, Castle lifts a careful hand and reaches for her hip. Applying gentle pressure, he encourages her to spin in place. First, he inspects her back, where she's embarrassed to note that the goosebumps that spread from feeling his breath are obvious to them both. Then, he rotates her again, pausing to inspect her side.

Beckett goes instantly still as she feels his lips on her side, a kiss of benediction and healing placed gently upon her incision scar.

"Sorry," he whispers hoarsely. "Old habits. I'll leave the other one to heal on its own."

"Don't," Beckett replies in a raspy voice, turning in place to present her other scar even as she edges closer. Noticing his hesitance, she prods. "Please?"

Once more, Castle leans forward. Both sets of eyes drift closed as he kisses the bullet wound on her chest. It's a simple, pure act that leaves them both short of breath.

Moments, later, Beckett reaches for his hand and tugs, encouraging him to rise from the bed.

"Your turn," she reminds him quietly as she reaches for his shirt. After that, they both remain silent as Beckett first undoes the buttons on his torso before turning her attention to his cuffs.

Castle's shirt flutters to the floor, landing atop Beckett's. It's an apt placement considering their activities, not that either of them notices. But, rather than medical or erotic inquisitiveness, Beckett's attention is caught by reminders of Castle's recent activities. His arm is badly bruised, but the worst of the damage isn't yet apparent due to the undershirt he still wears. Instead of the bruises, though, her attention is captured by the holsters strapped to the inside of each forearm. Reaching out, she grasps the hilt from one of the holsters and extracts a short-bladed, white knife. Surprised by the light weight, she waves the weapon around to test its balance. Castle, to his credit, doesn't flinch.

"It's a high-strength synthetic biopolymer," he offers as Beckett continues to play with the weapon. "The electronic body screeners at airport security pick them up, but they get through metal detectors without any problems."

"You know these are illegal, right?" Beckett asks, rolling her eyes again. She's not surprised when he answers with a shrug.

Not pressing the point, Beckett returns the knife to its sleeve before pulling on the velcro tabs to release the holster. She repeats the operation to his other arm before tossing both knives on the growing pile of clothes. Before progressing any further, she reaches again for his wrist, raising his arm to inspect her father's watch. "Good," she says simply, glad to see the watch is doing well and that he's wearing it. It's a shameless way to remind him of why she gave it to him, one she's happy to embrace.

This time it's Castle who goes still as Beckett's hands frame his waist, each grabbing the hem of his undershirt. Slowly, carefully, she lifts it up, stepping closer to him so she can lift the shirt over his head and arms.

As Beckett lets the shirt fall upon the clothes pile, she finds herself unable to step away. Castle, too, seems to be drawn forward. Somehow they find themselves with arms around each other. Silently standing together and sharing a warmth that spreads through them both.

It takes her a moment to remember why she was undressing her partner, and Beckett frowns when it comes back to her. Reluctantly, she steps back to inspect the damage to Castle. As she suspected, the bruising isn't limited to his arm but instead mottles his shoulder and side, too.

"Is this all from the crash?" she asks, wondering whether her sniper did more than scar his cheek.

"Mostly," he replies quietly. "I mentioned that we reinforced my car. It had rollbars and a five-point harness system, as well as extra neck support. But the seat busted," he explains with some consternation. "So I was nice and secure while I bounced around inside the car."

Repeating his actions, Beckett leans forward and drops a kiss on one of the largest bruises, just north of his clavicle. Unlike Castle's kiss, though, this one lingers and includes the faint caress of an active tongue. While Castle gasps, Beckett smiles to herself as she crosses 'taste' off her sensory inventory.

Beckett pulls away again and places a hand on his unbruised shoulder. "May I?" she asks demurely, with trepidation.

Castle looks into her eyes and holds the gaze for several long moments. Finally, he manages to nod.

Beckett gently pushes on his shoulder, causing him to rotate in place. As his shredded back comes into view, Beckett can't stop the sad sigh that escapes. No wonder he's wearing an undershirt – the ridges and valleys of his scarring are pronounced enough to show through a thin shirt. Since his true injuries were hidden from the public smokescreen of his 'car accident,' he needs to be careful to keep himself covered. It makes her wonder how he pulled off the outfit he wore to his book signing in California.

" _Oh, Castle_ ," she murmurs as he stops his rotation, the whole of his back on full, radiant display. His head droops at her sad words, so she tries to cheer him up.

"You misunderstand me," she explains as her hands land on his shoulders. "You know, I watched you when you were looking at my scars," she says, opting for brutal honesty as the way to get through to him. "I've worried about your reaction for a long time," she confesses, noting with some satisfaction that his shoulders straighten at this confession. She takes this as her cue to let her hands start to drift downward, gently tracing the patterns of his injuries.

"You said I was strong," she says, her words choked with emotion. "But there was something else in your look that I just couldn't place. But I get it now," she says with certainty as her fingers caress his back. "It was pride. I know because I am so proud of you, Castle. I don't know where you found the strength to endure what must've been a living hell, but you did it," she says as she leans forward to drop some kisses on his back. "I may not have the right to say this, but I am so proud of you," she repeats.

Obviously emotional from her declaration, Castle looks down to protect himself from Beckett's scrutiny. Recognizing his discomfort, Beckett lets her hands drop as she reaches around him, pulling him into another hug.

They stand that way for several minutes. With Beckett's front against Castle's back, they're able to share a quiet moment of connection without the additional hurdle of facing each other. Finally, Beckett pulls away to drop another kiss on his scarred back.

"Does it hurt?" she asks, knowing the answer but wondering how he'll answer.

"You know better than anyone," he replies quietly, holding tight to the arms wrapped around his middle. "It often itches and even when it doesn't hurt, the skin is tight and pulls when I try to stretch."

It's what she craved most – an honest answer from her partner. No jokes, no diversions, just raw, painful honesty. Again, she finds herself fighting back tears.

"Wait here," she says in a rush, regretfully pulling away before hurrying to the bathroom. After grabbing the bottle of lotion, she's back in place almost as quickly as she left.

"Lay down," she encourages as she nudges him to the bed. Without a fight, Castle crawls onto the bed, exposing his injured back to her while sprawling on his front. Carefully, and while focusing on the therapeutic nature of this development, Beckett clambers into bed and straddles her partner.

Neither of them comment on the intimacy of the moment. Beckett tries to focus on the reason for their circumstances, squirting some of the lotion into her hands before gently applying it to Castle's back. It's not a proper massage – his back isn't up for that yet – but it's a quiet, tactile way of building a connection. And both of them know the importance of this simple act.

Beckett continues to rub lotion into Castle's damaged back, taking care not to lean too heavily into him lest she aggravate his injuries from California. For his part, Castle seems to gradually relax under her care.

"I want you to be careful," she whispers as she caresses him, earning a quiet word of approval.

"I want us to be a team again," she admits. "Working the case, and… growing closer to each other." This time, Castle's agreement isn't so quiet.

"I want us to finish this case," she ventures, knowing she's pushing her luck, "so Alexis can come back and there's nothing in our way."

"I'd like that," Castle confesses. "That's all I want."

"Just don't forget me," Beckett asks, growing shy for some reason even despite their circumstances. "Don't forget that I want to help. And don't forget," she reminds him again, "that next time you've got someone like my shooter, I want to be involved."

This seems to be the area where her requests start making Castle uncomfortable. "I won't forget," he offers inadequately. "Once I get things set up, I'll make sure you have the choice of being involved."

Something about his answer seems false. Not that he's lying, she thinks, but more like he's trying to give himself some wiggle room based on loose language.

"You have someone already, don't you?" she asks, her hands stilling on his back.

"No," Castle answers quietly. With her hands on him, she can feel him tensing up again. "Not yet. But I will soon. I know who's next."

"Is it…," Beckett trails off, voice grown thick with emotion. "Is it the one who hired my shooter?"

"No," Castle replies again. "It's his enforcer. His muscle."

Beckett takes a moment to think about that. She should be worried that Castle's going after someone who sounds capable of addressing physical threats. But instead, she's thinking about how he answered, how he assumed the link. If he knows the enforcer, then…

"You know who it is, don't you?" Beckett gasps as Castle turns in place, sliding her to the side so he can sit up on the bed. Moving out of his position of vulnerability is all the confirmation she needs. Roughly six months ago, Roy Montgomery could've told her who killed her mother, who almost killer her. And now Castle knows.

"Who is it?" Beckett pleads with her partner. "Please, Castle, please. _Tell me_."

Rising from the bed, Castle squares himself to his partner, presenting a wide target as he looks first at the holstered gun on her hip and then into her imploring eyes.

"No."

* * *

A/N: Many thanks for all the comments, reviews, and PMs for this story. After taking a little break, it was great to see that there was still some interest in this story. Your feedback is greatly appreciated!


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

A/N: Just a short chapter this week. More below.

* * *

"No."

Castle's flat refusal to reveal the architect of her pain leaves Beckett reeling. She's struggling mightily – desperate not to fall into old habits and challenge him, but not ready to let it drop, either. Worse, he's watching her conflict with great interest, wondering how she'll react. Finally, slowly, she manages a reply.

"I understand," she emits, eyes falling to the floor as her earlier eagerness to take back the case comes back to haunt her.

"No, Kate," Castle replies quietly as a gentle finger under her chin encourages her to raise her eyes back to him, "I don't think you do." When her brows knit in curiosity but she remains quiet, he tries to explain.

"Beckett," he finally offers, "your father is safe. He's out of the city."

Beckett continues to stare at him, wondering at the shift in topic but swallowing her questions.

"You got him to Henry, right?" he asks, waiting for her nod of affirmation. "When you collected him this morning, did you lay out the full plan?"

"No," Beckett answers slowly. "I just whispered that we had to leave. He jumped right in."

"So, your father let you take control and trusted in you to resolve the situation," he summarizes, and Beckett finally realizes where he's going. But he adds the exclamation point anyway. "Trust me, Beckett."

"This isn't about trust," Beckett denies, shaking her head. "Not anymore," she confesses, admitting to them both that Castle's managed just fine on his own for the past several months. "I trusted Roy Montgomery, Castle, and he's gone."

"Roy died and took his secret with him," Castle acknowledges gravely. "The difference is, I've made arrangements so that if I die, you get my files and the resources to finish the job." Realizing the tone has grown far too somber, he tries to fall back to levity and teasing. "So, if you're sure the name is what you really want, pull your service weapon and do what you've always threatened to..."

" _Don't you dare_ ," Beckett hisses, covering his mouth with her hand to staunch the flow of words. "Don't you dare ever joke like that again, Castle. You've come too close… _we've_ come too close to that actually happening."

Looking abashed, this time it's Castle who lets his head drop. As his regard falls from her eyes, though, he once again notices her scar, as well as her discomfort. Kicking himself for his poor manners, he quickly steps around the bed. He reaches down and grabs the sleeve of his shirt, tugging it up and sending the other clothes and his holsters tumbling off the pedestal.

Turning back to his partner, he tries to be a little playful again, this time with a safer topic. As he's held her coat for her many times, this time Castle holds up his shirt as we waits to help her put it on.

Recognizing this olive branch, Beckett steps forward with a small smile that matches Castle's. As she slides an arm into the sleeve, she thinks about the subtext of this seemingly small offer. Three important points leap out at her. First, he wants her to stay. They've hit another disagreement about the case but he's inviting her to stay. Second, his invitation also confirms that he's going to stay – he can't very well leave when she's wearing his shirt, not without hiding his beloved knives and displaying his recent injuries. But it's the third aspect that heats her up more than the shirt – there's something primal about dressing her in his clothes. It's a different act of intimacy than what they shared on the bed; still powerful, in a different way.

After dropping a quick kiss on the back of her neck as he releases her hair to cascade down over the shirt, Castle crawls onto the bed. He prowls across the massive mattress on all fours before sitting at the foot of the bed, facing the headboard, to which he nods.

Right, Beckett recalls, his back's still a mess and the lotion is drying. With a gentle touch to his shoulder to show that she understands, Beckett removes her holster and sets it on the bedside table before she joins him on the bed. She'd removed her weapon to make her point about not wanting anything to happen to Castle, but smiles ruefully when she realizes that she was still wearing it while she straddled and tended to her partner. How ridiculous that they're both so used to violence that neither noticed the weapon's place in their quiet acts of intimacy.

From his wry grin, it looks like Castle's thinking about the same thing.

Beckett's still positioning herself against the headboard when his voice surprises her.

"I'll tell you the name when it's time," he offers while looking directly at her. "But I need to explain, and I need something from you, too." At her wide-eyed nod, Castle starts with the explanation.

"One man is responsible for your family's pain," Castle offers quietly, sadly. "Your mother's death, your shooting, and the ripples those caused…," he trails off, probably thinking about Jim's drinking or his own kidnapping. With a quick head-shake, he gets himself back on track. "He's powerful, prosperous, and protected."

Beckett nods, processing his words. She knew her foe had to be formidable. But Castle's proven to be focused, too, so she's not as daunted by his description as would've been the case back before Montgomery took his secret to the grave.

"But…?" she asks, prompting him to explain the delay in approaching this demon.

"But for as much misery as he's caused, he's not the head of the snake," Castle confesses, leaving Beckett feeling queasy. "If we take him out, your family will be avenged, but mine will still be at risk."

"How do you know?" Beckett whispers, horrified.

"You've expressed some concerns about my new friends," he replies with another small, crooked smile. "I'm not the only one trying to find the person in charge. I was… _recruited_ after I started making my own moves this summer."

Beckett's not sure if this news brings her any peace or just elevates her concerns. If the man behind her misery is so daunting, then someone higher up must be nearly unassailable. And the people hunting him – they have reason to use whatever tools they can find, but she's not sure they have any incentive to treat those tools well. What's to stop them from draining Castle's resolve and resources before leaving him exposed?

"So," she says, trying to step back and think about this as a case as a horrifying possibility occurs to her, "are you trying take out the man who killed my mother or are you looking to squeeze him for information?" she asks, voice increasing in both pitch and conveyed dread. "Are you telling me he could plead out, buy his freedom by turning on his master?"

Castle scoots forward on the bed and reaches out for a hand. She lifts her hand to him with some hesitation, wondering if he's trying to anchor her here while he explains why her tormentor needs to go free so that his can be brought down.

" _There are no deals_ ," he says with quiet resolve. "There are no pleas, no cells. These people can kill as easily from behind bars as they can from their offices. Maybe we take your demon to lure mine out. Maybe if we can take down everyone else we can toss your guy in jail. But he will _not_ go free and he will _not_ threaten any of us again."

Later, Beckett might feel some guilt for her reaction, but right now she feels nothing but relief. Relief that Castle's implacability applies to her tormentor as much as his own, and relief that he spoke in the plural as he envisions them both working on this together. She might be sidelined right now, but it sounds like he's counting on her being part of the final resolution.

"What do you need from me?" she asks, wanting to show she's invested and remembering his earlier comment.

"I need you to recuse yourself from the Cambridge case involving Bob Weldon," he offers apologetically. Anticipating a fierce reply, he explains quickly. "The case is a frame-up, a way for them to hit back at one of my allies. I won't ask you to bury the case, but we need you far away. Otherwise, you're all in the same place. It's too likely that they can play you against each other or try to take you all at once."

Beckett lifts her gaze from their linked hands to his face. He's nearly grimacing in expectation of the explosion that's sure to follow.

"Okay," she answers simply.

"Okay?" Castle asks in confusion, sure he heard her wrong.

"It's important, right?" she replies rhetorically. "I told you I'd follow your lead and that this wasn't about trust. If you say we need to get off the case, then we'll get off the case."

Castle still looks flummoxed. She'd laugh, but his disbelief is a little unflattering, even if it is somewhat justified.

"I'll talk to Gates tomorrow morning," Beckett offers, "turn over my notes. Given the mayor's role in getting you on my team, it probably wasn't appropriate for me to be on the case in the first place."

"Thank you," Castle offers, finally engaging. But then he ruins Beckett's still-forming smile by rotating his wrist and checking the time.

"You need to leave?" she asks, trying not to sound forlorn. "Time to go catch the enforcer?"

"No," Castle manages with a laugh. "Just thinking about next steps. Besides," he offers with another chuckle, "I don't get to sleep on comfortable beds very often these days. This place caters in discretion, so I think I'm going to stay here tonight."

Beckett nods as she processes his comments and the images they create in her mind. Her gaze drifts back to their hands, until she musters her courage and claims his attention with a gentle.

"Can I sleep here, too?"

She wonders if she should've emphasized _sleep_ , since she's not ready for more (and she's certainly not going to start them off under the pretense of a tawdry fling). But looking at her partner's warm smile, she can tell he's on the same page.

Fighting her blush and her smile, Beckett rises from the bed and tugs on Castle's hand. She leads him to the restroom, where she points to the supplies that have been thoughtfully provided for their use. After washing up, Beckett asks him to retrieve his undershirt so she can finish in the restroom, then trades places with him so he can finish up. When Castle emerges from the restroom, the lights are off but for a small lamp on Beckett's bedside table, the curtains are pulled back again, and Beckett's sitting against the headboard wearing Castle's undershirt with her legs tucked beneath the covers, watching him intently.

Smiling at the sight, Castle drinks in the view of his partner. Several long moments later, he steps to the door and ensures that all locks are engaged. Then, to Beckett's surprise, he kneels in front of the door while reaching into the pockets of his pants. From one he withdraws a communication device that looks like hers; from the other he pulls what look to be blocky headphones. Setting the device on the floor, he plugs the headphones in and stretches them to the gap beneath the door, angling each earbud to the side.

"Motion-sensor alarms," he says with a mischievous eyebrow waggle.

"How come mine doesn't do that?" Beckett replies, trying to sound offended.

"Q likes me better," he laughs as he pushes a few buttons to activate the setup before rising to his feet, then laughs again at her exaggerated eye roll. Still chuckling, he rounds steps away from the door and up the steps to the bed. Sitting at the foot of the bed, he bends to remove his pants and socks.

A little put out that Castle didn't put on a show, Beckett shakes her head as her eyes rove over his back as he bends to attend to something else. Hearing the ripping sound of Velcro, she huffs as she realizes that Castle's removing more weaponry. Sure enough, he looks over his shoulder and gives her a sheepish shrug before rising slowly.

Castle folds his clothes and sets them on a corner of the bed's pedestal before moving toward his bedside table. Watching her partner, wearing only black boxers and holding a holstered firearm, prowl around the bed is ridiculously arousing, but Beckett tamps these feelings down. _File under 'things to look forward to,'_ she thinks with a smirk.

Castle removes the small gun from its holster and places it within reach on the bedside table, adjusting its placement to ensure it can be grasped quickly. It's an unfortunate reminder that a harsh life exists beyond the bubble of this hotel room.

Castle slides into bed as Beckett reaches over and clicks off the lamp, dropping the room into a darkness broken only by the twinkling lights of the city that wink in through the windows.

Even though she can't see him, Beckett feels her anxiety rise as the awkwardness of their situation rears its head.

"So, Beckett," Castle whispers playfully, sounding like a naughty boy on a sleepover, "are you a cuddler?"

Beckett laughs, enjoying the flood of warmth that comes from the resumption of their teasing. "Not really," she confesses. "But, as usual, I suspect you're the exception to the rule."

Her smooth delivery of what she thought was a pretty good line was ruined by her squeak at the end, when Castle surprised her by pulling her toward the middle of the bed and tossing an arm over her side. A little shifting finds them spooned together and comfortable, buried in luxurious bedding that cocoons them from the rest of the world.

"Castle?" Beckett warbles as her partner nuzzles her hair. "I just want you to know…," she trails off quietly and emotionally, preparing for a heartfelt confession

"Yes?" he whispers with lips tantalizingly close to her ear.

"If I wake up to find you gone and a gray envelope left behind, I'll hunt you down and feed it to you," she promises in a sultry voice.

"I love you, too, Beckett," he chuckles before kissing the back of her neck and finally relaxing into sleep.

* * *

In a perfect world, the partners would've slept through the night wrapped in each other's arms. Either that or not slept a wink due to an explosion of long-suppressed and finally-satisfied sexual tension.

Instead, Beckett woke them with a scream after barely two hours of sleep. Castle's turn followed roughly two hours later, leaving him panting and sweating more than would've been the case had they engaged in some bedroom gymnastics. Worse, his episode seemed to trigger another fierce nightmare for her, which woke them yet again.

But, even without a full night's sleep, their time together was critical, perhaps even more so than their time spent talking. In the quiet, pre-dawn stillness, they held and comforted each other through the terror of their respective nightmares. Quiet words of support, gentle caresses, and innocent kisses held them together, helped them remember how much easier it is to deal with pain when not dealing with loneliness at the same time.

* * *

"Thank you," Beckett whispers as Castle's eyes slowly open, coaxed by the gentle ministrations of her hand on his cheek even though it's still dark outside. Castle turns his head to catch her hand, kissing the palm before turning back to look at her warm, wide eyes.

"It was my honor," he replies, voice cracking as it comes awake. "Thank you."

Rather than reply, Beckett scoots over and curls into him, nuzzling his cheek as she draws him close.

They enjoy some long, quiet moments of togetherness, entwined in the bed, before Castle's rumbling chuckle draws their attention.

"Do I wanna know?" Beckett asks with some indulgence as her hand draws idle patterns on his shoulder, suspecting trouble from her partner.

"Just thinking that Espo owes me fifty bucks," he explains. "I _knew_ you'd wake up thanking me after we spent our first night together."

"Ass," Beckett chuffs as she pokes his midsection and getting a yelp in reply. "If you ever say anything to the boys about what happens in bed between us, you'll never have to worry about the situation arising again."

"Just kidding," Castle answers quickly, feigning concern.

"Sure you are," she replies, fighting her smile.

"I am!" he protests. "It wasn't really Espo. It was Lanie."

This earns him another poke, but this time he catches her hand as she tries to pull it back. Quick as a blink, he tugs on the hand and rolls over, pulling Beckett on top of him.

"Castle! Your back!" she admonishes, worried that lying on his back would cause him pain even without her added weight.

"Beckett, if you think I can feel my back while you're pressed against my front, you're crazy," he teases in reply. And then, just as she opens her mouth to object, he raises his head and presses his lips to hers.

Unbelievably, this morning's venture is even more explosive than their undercover kiss, about which neither can think without wobbling or smiling. But this kiss follows a harrowing night that forged a new connection between the partners.

Yesterday, they struggled to redefine their partnership.

Last evening, they struggled to protect each other from the terrors of the night.

This morning, they reap their rewards.

Every reason for delay, every objection, every _care_ … they all evaporate under sensual caresses and daring explorations. Neither even wonders if the passion is forced by the rapidly approaching end of their quiet time together. It's not time to think or worry, only to feel.

Beckett, finally, puts her hands on either side of Castle's head and pushes herself away, sitting upright. Like last night, she's straddling her partner in bed. Most decidedly unlike last night, she's got a stunning view of his heaving chest, soulful eyes, and look of brave resignation as he watches his partner prepare to leave.

"D'you know what time it is?" Beckett asks, her voice affected by disuse, kiss-swollen lips, and a gentle, panting breath.

Castle bends his elbow, bringing his wrist into view. A quick glance at Jim's watch confirms that it's still early. "Almost five thirty," Castle replies carefully, watching his partner carefully.

"Nope," Beckett replies sassily. "It's time to return your shirt."

Then, for the second time since they've entered this room, Beckett's hands curl around the hem of the shirt before she raises it. She draws it out, exposing inch after inch of skin as she watches her partner squirm beneath her. With excruciatingly measured care, she finally lifts the shirt over her head before bunching it up and dropping it playfully on Castle's face.

For his part, Castle's proud that he's still managing to draw regular breaths. Playing it smooth, he reaches up to his face to pull the shirt away. His reward is to see his partner astride him, running her hands through her long locks as she shakes her head and looks down at him with a wanton, predatory smile.

"I don't think I'll need this for a while," he growls as he carelessly tosses the shirt aside and reaches for his Beckett.

* * *

A/N2: This chapter was unexpected and unplanned. I hadn't anticipated this development, but I think perhaps I was pushing Beckett and Castle a little too hard in this story. They rebelled, sequestered themselves in a hotel room, and gave themselves a break from their bleak circumstances. Drama and danger will follow, but they stole some time to remember why their fighting.

If you've read my stories, you know I don't venture into M territory. Still, things can get steamy enough to make me blush. Especially when fellow commuters read over my shoulder while I type during my daily commute. So, on the off chance that my fellow Metro passenger was offended earlier today, sorry!


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

Thankful for her habit of leaving an extra change of clothes in her locker at the precinct, Beckett finishes cleaning up down in the locker room before preparing to head up to the fourth floor. She'd intended to stop by her apartment before starting today's shift, but that was before the wonderful distractions Castle offered this morning. To be honest, it's amazing she made it to work at all.

The only blemish on their time together, she thinks as she climbs the stairs, was Castle's parting comment.

" _I'll see you soon_ ," she'd said to his as they parted at the hotel elevator.

" _You will_ ," he replied, looking unexpectedly nervous. " _I just hope you see me the same way_."

She'd taken that to mean he's going to let her see more of his investigation and he's worried about how her opinion of him might change. She's worried about that herself, Beckett admits as she rounds the landing on the third floor. Castle's made allusions to behind-the-scenes violence, and the bodies at the machine shop corroborate her concerns. But the sad truth is, she's not nearly as bothered as she should be. She's thought about her mother's case often enough over the years to know that she'd bend or even shatter the rules to find the people responsible for her family's misery.

As she reaches the fourth floor, she realizes that Castle's included when she thinks of her family. When did that happen?

The thought brings a welcome smile to her face as she walks by the boys and directly to Gates' office. She knocks on the doorframe before popping her head in.

"Sir? I'd like to talk to you about the Cambridge case," she explains tersely. "Could we meet in fifteen minutes? I just want to prep with my team for a few moments."

With a nod of assent for the question and curious look for the detective's uncharacteristic smile, Gates sends Beckett on her way.

"Boys," Beckett says with a nod. "Care to join me in the conference room?"

Ryan and Esposito cast each other wary glances, wondering at Beckett's oddly pleasant demeanor. With matching shrugs, they grab their files and start to follow her into a conference room. Ryan's made it a few steps before he snaps his fingers, returns to his desk, and grabs his computer.

"I'm recusing myself from the Cambridge case," Beckett says abruptly as the boys take their seats around the table. "And I'm hoping you'll do the same."

"Because…," Esposito prompts. She'd hoped Ryan would reply.

"Because Castle asked me to," she offers simply.

Ryan and Esposito share another look while Beckett ignores their raised eyebrows.

"Did he say why?" Ryan asks, trying to get more of the story.

Beckett nods, happy to move onto the story after she started by proving her intention to follow Castle's lead. "He said it's a frame-up. The people he's hunting are hitting back, trying to punish those who've provided support. The mayor is an obvious target."

"You sure he's not just protecting his friend?" Espo asks, looking skeptical. "Switching teams will pause the investigation. Maybe he's just buying time for Weldon."

"He's worried that if we work the case, we might make too attractive a target – someone could make a move against all of us," she explains, holding her temper for Espo's continued antagonism about Castle's motives. "And think about it – say we bust Weldon and the frame-up breaks after we arrest him. Then _we're_ sidelined and the mayor's still hurt."

"So, you're gonna walk?" Esposito follows up, though he sounds like he's thinking about her scenario.

"I am," Beckett confirms, acting more confident in her decision than she really feels. "I told Gates I had an update for her. I'm standing down either way, but should I tell her this is a team decision or just my own?"

"I'm out," Ryan answers promptly before Esposito can have his say. "Castle's up to something, but I trust him."

"What do you mean, he's up to something?" Beckett asks before Esposito has a chance.

"Remember when we were looking into his real estate deals?" he asks, harkening back to their first confirmation that something big was going on. "We wondered about whether he really sold the Haunt or of that was just a shell game to provide an alibi."

"Was it?" Esposito asks, looking annoyed that his partner hasn't shared this with him already.

"No, the sale of the Haunt was legit. The new owners tried to modernize," he offers while shaking his head at their folly, "and destroyed the charm of the place. It's already losing money. If Castle wants it back, he can probably get it for a steal."

Noticing both Espo and Beckett are looking at him to get the rest of the story, Ryan remembers how they got started on this topic.

"It's the Hamptons place," Ryan explains quickly. "I've been looking into the corporate investment group that bought it. I haven't followed all the tax registrations yet, but I'm starting to think that Castle's behind it all. He told us that he sold or hid everything to eliminate any targets. But I'm starting to wonder if he didn't try to hang on to the Hamptons place for when this is all over."

"No," Beckett disagrees immediately. "He wasn't planning on surviving this case," she offers to their obvious surprise. "I'll bet he was saving it for Alexis." Castle never mentioned anything about this, but Beckett's sure she's right. He's been trying to protect his daughter and her future. Setting the beach house aside for her later use sounds exactly like something he would've done.

"The way you say that," Esposito replies with a raised brow, "makes it sound like his plan might've changed."

"Maybe," she agrees, offering no reason for her partner's change of heart. "So," she segues abruptly, "are you staying on the Cambridge case or are you going to join us?" she asks, employing positive peer pressure to get him on board.

"Sure," Esposito replies with resigned flippancy. "Since I'm outvoted. What're we gonna do after Gates threatens to bust us down to traffic patrol?"

"I'll take care of Gates," Beckett offers with a grim smile. In the worst case, she'll appeal to Castle for his intervention with his good friend 'Victoria.' As she rises, she notices Ryan giving her an odd look before turning again to his partner.

"Anything else?" she asks, trying to prompt him. Instead, he shrugs, looking down.

"Honeymilk was gonna ask why you're in such a good mood," Esposito cackles, enjoying his bluntness and Ryan's subsequent blush.

"I'm in a good mood," Beckett replies with a small smile. "Because I saw my partner last night."

Then, after waiting a beat, she adds: "And this morning."

"Yeah," Ryan replies uncomfortably while his partner looks down at his desktop. "We figured. Hey, Beckett, you, uh…"

"By the way, Espo," she offers as she rises and steps towards the conference room door, "you owe Castle fifty bucks."

The smile she wears as she steps towards the break room is beatific. It's more than enough to stay any further comments from the boys, though they clearly feel guilty.

"You think we should've said something about the…?" Ryan asks his partner while gesturing.

"Hell no," Espo replies gruffly. "Trust me, I'm not getting' anywhere near that."

* * *

Beckett's still chortling about Espo's shocked reaction as she steps into her Captain's office after a quick stop in the break room for coffee. Clearly, Castle had lied when he tried to shift the focus to Lanie. Based on Espo's shocked reaction, he knew exactly what bet Beckett was talking about. And she didn't lie – she had thanked Castle this morning. Several times, to her hazy recollection. And all well deserved, especially since he was also properly appreciative.

Beckett lowers herself into the guest chair, aware that her demeanor has her boss slightly on edge. It's a bit insulting that people consider her smiling happiness as such a divergence from her usual disposition.

"You said you had an update on the Cambridge case?" Gates prompts after Beckett remained quiet after sitting.

"Of a type," Beckett replies. "I'm recusing myself and my team from the investigation."

Gates stares at her for several long moments. Beckett, used to this interrogation technique, is perfectly content to remain sitting quiet and impassive while awaiting her boss' reaction.

"I see," Gates finally offers, though clearly she doesn't mean the words literally. "Care to explain?"

"Do you want the official reason," Beckett asks with a small smile, feeling rather like she's winding her captain up the same way Castle might, "or the real reason?"

"Yes."

Beckett nods, accepting Gates' terse reply as a request for both explanations. She takes a few moments to frame her response before wading in.

"Castle joined my team three years ago due to the Mayor's intervention," she prefaces, knowing full well that Gates knows this history. "Would you let me investigate someone who had a deep connection to Esposito or Ryan? Even if I could remain objective, the public perception is horrible. I should never have been anywhere near this case. As I'm sure someone from IA would know."

Gates had been nodding along until that last comment, at which point she froze in place and leveled a scathing glare at the detective.

"You have some issue with my staffing decisions, detective?" Gates asks in a low voice.

"It depends. _Were_ they your staffing decisions?" Beckett replies rhetorically. Noting Gates' flinch she presses. "Or was my placement on this case a way to further isolate Castle and make his return to the precinct more difficult?"

"One more accusation and you'll work weekends for the next five years," Gates replies in a pique. "I thought you were a detective. Not that I should dignify your behavior with an explanation," Gates continues, looking disappointed, "but you drew the case because I wanted my best team to handle the hot potato."

"Thank you," Beckett replies easily, unfazed by the threat from her boss and happy to receive the compliment. "Nonetheless, you and I both know I shouldn't be on this case."

"You didn't seem to have any objections when I assigned it to you."

"True," Beckett admits. "But as someone's pointed out to me, I tend to charge in full bore without necessarily considering the bigger picture. Now that I have, it's time for me to step away."

"I see," Gates repeats, again demonstrating this is a stock phrase she employs when she's struggling for answers. "So, I'm supposed to reassign the duty roster to suit your whims?"

"No," Beckett replies quickly, "you're supposed to assign cases based on the best, objective team for the job. That's not us."

"And that's your official position?" Gates asks, eying up her best detective.

"It is," Beckett agrees with a nod. "And Detectives Esposito and Ryan agree with me, though you're welcome to discuss this with them yourself."

"I suspect that's not worth my time," Gates replies, knowing full well this team sticks together. "Instead, I think I'd rather hear the unofficial reason you want off the case."

Beckett stares at her boss for a few long moments while she considers stepping off of this ledge. With a deep breath and a thought of her partner, she takes the leap.

"The people involved in the Cambridge case are also involved in my shooting."

Her simple sentence prompts several minutes of silence as Gates' thinks madly about the implications. Finally, after serious thought, she zeroes in on the question Beckett's been dreading.

"How do you know?"

Beckett nods, if only to buy herself a little time. She knew this question was coming, knew she'd have to offer some source. Castle freed her to identify him as the source of information, but Beckett fears the Captain will consider him too close to be a reliable source. So, she opts to describe him rather than identify him.

"I'm not the only one who's been targeted by these people," she offers. "Another target reached out to me. I was warned that the case is a pretext to get me and my team in close proximity to Weldon so we could all be taken out at once."

" _Taken out_ ," Gates repeats. "Are you telling me that you'd be killed if you continued on the case?" she asks, the tone of bewildered incredulity readily apparent.

"Yes," Beckett answers. When she sees Gates' look of disbelief, she gets a little angry. "It's not as if they haven't tried already. Are you really surprised?"

Gates sits back at this comment, taking time to assess her detective. It's much more than an assessing stare' Gates is clearly trying to get into Beckett's head.

"I don't understand," she finally admits, looking at Beckett. "Granted, I don't know you well. But, based on what I've seen so far, I would've thought that a connection to your case would've made you more eager, not less, to push the Cambridge case."

"I'm not the only one involved," Beckett answers, thinking about Castle to remind herself that other people are affected in this whole mess. "I'm not the only one at risk."

"I don't remember other people entering into your past decisions," Gates offers. She might be a new supervisor, but her comment still hurts. Rather than answer and risk dignifying Gates' comment, she remains quiet.

"You're off the case," Gates offers after several quiet minutes. "I expect you to pass your notes along to Zuponsic's team. Is there anything I need to worry about?"

"Just make sure Zuponsic has the support he needs," Beckett replies. "I'm not looking to hamstring the case, just to keep my team safe. The risks to others shouldn't differ from any other highly political, headline-grabbing case against the person who could have us all replaced."

Gates tries but can't stop a slight huff of amusement at Beckett's description. Then, sobering, she tries to regain control of the conversation. "As for your team, you'll all be plenty safe working cold cases until I figure out what to do about this," Gates replies. She'd clearly been aiming to hit Beckett where it hurts, but this step was anticipated. It still hurts, Beckett notes, but she can control her reaction.

"Understood," Beckett replies with resolve. She's pushed her boss farther than she thought she might, but not only does she still have her job, but she holds the same rank as when the discussion started. Not bad, all things considered.

Gates observes her detective for several more long moments. Then, with a nod, she reaches into the pocket of her blazer and extracts her keys. Bending at the waist, she unlocks the bottom drawer of her desk and flips through some hanging file folders. When she straightens, she's got two files in hand.

"Here are the cases on which I'd like you to start," Gates offers, sliding the files across her desk. Beckett's hand freezes midway to the desktop as her mind makes note of the file number on the folder. She'd know that number in her sleep. It's the case she's worked on since she became an officer. She suspects the second file, while more recent, is no less personal to her.

"Thank you, sir," she utters. She wants to say more but she's fearful of saying the wrong thing or making Gates reconsider her decision. Besides, this is an official sanction to work on her case and coordinate with Castle.

"I don't know how long I can leave you pointed in that direction," Gates warns. "But, if you're right, you might crack the Cambridge case from a different direction."

"Trust me, sir, there's nothing I'd like better."

"Then get to it," Gates replies, nodding toward the door.

Beckett rises quickly, anxious both to get started and to escape the office before Gates changes her mind or extracts any concessions. She can feel her shoulders slump as Gates speaks again when Beckett's two short steps from freedom.

"Two last things, Detective," Gates calls out, waiting for Beckett to turn back to face her. "First, take a quick break to run out to the store. I think you need a scarf or a turtleneck," she explains with a straight face as she takes in the blemishes on Beckett's neck that become much more obvious as the detective flushes in embarrassment. "Second, say hello to Rick for me."

* * *

Three days after her time with Castle and two days after last hearing from him after he left to "track someone down," Beckett's feeling out of sorts. They're getting nowhere on the cold cases, though she still appreciates Gates' decisions to let them try. The main problem is the 22nd precinct – even if her team can work the cold cases, they still can't get access to the files on Bader or Sands. Castle's provided the names of the other two bodies from the machine shop, but that search has been a dry hole, too. Thankfully, if the leads they chased had to yield no new information, at least they offered no new gray envelopes, either. While he's not being entirely forthcoming with what he's doing, at least Castle isn't playing coy anymore, either.

Sighing, Beckett shuts down her laptop. With a brief explanation to her teammates, she heads out of the precinct, striding for two blocks before treating herself to a walking lunch courtesy of the comfort food truck. Two blocks later, she's bolted her lunch, pitched the trash, and walked down to the subway.

Indigestion strikes just as she arrives at her destination. Perfect, she thinks, noting that she now has a new dimension to her discomfort. Chastising herself for the melodrama, she takes a deep breath before opening the door. Millie waves her through with a guilty smile, unable to talk as she finishes her own lunch while sitting at the reception desk.

"Kate," Dr. Burke greets her as she steps into his office and heads toward the chair she usually occupies during their sessions. "I'm glad you could make it."

Odd, Beckett thinks. This isn't their regular appointment, so of course she'd make it to something she scheduled about three hours ago. She's been feeling down – her quiet time with Castle, while critical for them both, has thrown other aspects of her life into sharp contrast. Theirs isn't a typical relationship yet, which seems oddly appropriate, but it sheds enough light to expose some other deficiencies in her life. It's also provided a new goal: for the first time in memory, she's invested in making a relationship work. Their years together provide a more solid foundation that she suspects either of them has enjoyed in the past, but other baggage still provide challenges.

So, rather than fret, Beckett decided to address her concerns head-on. She'd pat herself on the back if she weren't so concerned about how things might go.

"Glad to be here," she replies to Burke, still looking curious about his greeting. "I think I'd benefit from a conversation."

"Certainly," Burke replies with a smile that looks a bit forced. "My door's always open. Why don't you tell me how you'd like to start today?"

"Well," Beckett temporizes, feeling less confident now that they're actually about to address her concerns, "I'm… that is…," Finally growing frustrated at the wincing uncertainty she hears from herself, she shakes her head, takes a breath, and just spits out her concern. "I'm having trouble letting go."

"Of you mother's case," Burke nods along, unsurprised.

"Wait, no," Beckett objects. "That's not… well, yeah, that's an issue," she admits while running a hand through her hair. "But I was talking about something else. I'm having trouble letting go of…"

"Your leadership position on your team," Burke interrupts, nodding again while looking intensely at Beckett. "We've talked about this before – how Detective Esposito chafes under your command. I take it the issue is flaring up again?"

 _What?!_ Beckett thinks. They've never talked about anything like that. Espo's never been anything like that, at least not with her. So, what's Burke…

 _Oh, shit,_ Beckett thinks, her mind scrabbling madly for purchase. Burke doesn't interrupt, he doesn't invent issues, and he doesn't forget what they've previously discussed. If he's going off-script, he must have good reason. And one that he can't articulate aloud.

"Yeah," Beckett says slowly, wondering about how to pitch this. "We've been benched after things got out of hand on our last case," she invents on the fly, all while watching her therapist's eyes closely for a reaction. "We're on cold cases until the Captain's convinced we're working well together again."

"That's unfortunate," Burke offers sympathetically. "The city certainly needs your team working a peak efficiency."

"That's what Gates said," she replies, cautiously optimistic that their discussion is building a plausible cover. Even better, it might provide an alibi for her team's sudden removal from the Cambridge case.

"So, tell me," Beckett continues, trying to figure out exactly what she's dealing with here and suddenly gaining a new appreciation for Burke's chosen diversionary topic. "Do you think Espo's acting this way because of his military background?"

 _Please_ , she thinks as Burke considers her question, _get the reference_. Esposito isn't the only ex-military guy around. Her shooter – the man found in the machine shop – had military training. So did Coonan. If Burke's under duress, perhaps there's another player with a similar background involved.

"Perhaps," Burke ruminates, leaning back in his chair and tenting his hands in front of him as if lost in thought. "It's possible, but improbable I think. After all, his background hasn't changed since the day he joined the NYPD."

"Neither has anything else," Beckett grouses, hamming it up a bit.

"Yes and no," Burke replies. "Sometimes, we're willing to make pragmatic concessions, to accept something we'd otherwise reject as a way of making things work. But such arrangements fail when the weight of the compromise becomes too great," Burke suggests, "or until there's a counterexample that obviates the needs for compromise."

"So, you think Esposito was willing to accept my leadership initially but it's… what, just become too difficult to accept?" Clearly, Burke is trying to explain something with the subtext to his comments but she's having trouble understanding his point.

"Mister Castle left your team, correct?" Burke asks, watching as Beckett nods. "And you've neither heard from him nor expect his return?"

 _Clever boy_ , Beckett thinks while she hides her smile. Her therapist is constructing quite the story for whoever is listening, making the case that Castle's long gone. He knows it's not true, that Beckett has met with him several times. Hell, he probably even suspects the recent developments in their relationship.

"That's right," Beckett answers in a clipped tone, contributing to the story. "He just bailed out. So much for the years we invested in him."

"And that's my point," Burke nods sagely. "Mister Castle was a part of your team for years. In that time, Detective Esposito saw him enter as a civilian but still find a place. In his time at the precinct he participated as a full member of your team."

" _Almost_ full member," Beckett snarks, keeping the conversation plausibly based in reality. "We never managed to get him to carry his weight with the paperwork."

"Be that as it may," Burke replies with a roll of the eyes, "Mister Castle finally left. Tell me, when he departed, did he have any more responsibilities, any more control, than when he arrived?"

She knows the answer she needs to give for their cover, but it's still an interesting question. In truth, Castle had made some inroads. She'd come to trust his judgment, especially after she started to see past the veneer to the man beneath the humor and bravado. Unbelievably, Burke's managed to insert some actual therapeutic relevance to this harrowing farce of a session.

"No," she offers, getting a thankful look from Burke. "He ran out the same way as he stumbled in."

"So, in other words," Burke summarizes, "Detective Esposito saw someone arrive, spend years with the team, and depart. Throughout that cycle, nothing changed. For someone accustomed to control and career advancement, how could such a reminder not make him chafe?"

 _Maybe that's it_ , Beckett realizes. _That's_ why Espo's been so pissy about Castle. Not because of what Burke just said, but because of the opposite. In a few short years, Castle's arrived and carved out a place at the precinct. Not only did he lack Esposito's military training, but he was a reputational joke upon arrival, a mantle he seemed to wear with misplaced pride. And then he leaves the precinct and proves that he's even more adept than they'd realized when he was there.

If that's what's going on with Espo, maybe things are even worse. Maybe he's irritated by the prospect of Castle returning to the precinct when this is over. After all, from that perspective, things have gotten worse following Castle's departure – he's not only shown himself capable of some of the more rough-and-tumble aspects of their job, but he also seems to have made inroads with the icy new captain of the 12th.

Well, if that's the case, then Esposito can just pound sand, Beckett decides. Regardless of background, he should be happy to have any capable assistance on their cases. His concern should be on the bottom line and whether they function effectively at catching murderers.

Smirking slightly, she finds herself wondering if she can talk Burke into a group session if they all survive the mess they're in now.

"I think you're probably right," Beckett replies with a sigh, shooting a soft smile at Burke in an effort to let him know she's realized some things thanks to his guidance. Then, with a quick glance at Castle's watch on her wrist, she gauges how much more time they need to fill for any listeners to accept this as a full, regular therapy session. "So," she asks while lightly tapping on the watch to encourage Burke to fill the time, "what recommendations do you have for how we can address this going forward?"

Her easy question provides a platform on which Burke expounds for the next twenty minutes. It's an easy, theoretical discussion, one that uses elementary psychological concepts he can probably sing in his sleep. The discussion effectively fills the time, leaving them making their farewells a half-hour after Beckett arrived.

"Thank you, Doctor," Beckett enthuses at the end of their session, casting him a serious look. "You've given me a lot to think about. I promise I'll act on it soon."

He nods, leaving Beckett with the impression that he understands her comment about imminent action.

It's torturous to walk casually out of his building as if nothing is wrong. She walks a few blocks, figuring that a cab caught right there might not be safe. The subway would be faster, but she needs some private time and she needs it quickly.

After shamelessly flashing her badge to cut the taxi line at a hotel a few blocks away (how did that work? Why would a cop need to take a cab?), she piles in. Even while she directs the cabbie to the 12th she's extracting the device that allows her to contact Castle.

 **I need help. My therapist is compromised. Call me.**

Her text is terse, like the ones she's sent before, but more confident. No more asking for him to reach out. After their time together, she's confident he'll contact her as soon as possible.

Even though it's mid-afternoon, traffic is already snarled. It takes nearly an hour to return to the precinct, leaving Beckett with the mundane realization that she's getting low on sick time. She laughs as she realizes how much she longs for pedestrian thoughts like this to be her primary concern.

As she finally exits the cab and walks into the precinct, she prepares herself for what has to happen next. She's not going to do anything about Esposito quite yet, but she'll take the time she needs to watch him and see if her theory seems plausible. In the meantime, she needs to think about Burke and how to protect him.

She's assuming Burke's under duress, not that he's sold out or complicit. His careful words wouldn't make sense otherwise. So, that leaves the usual choices. Blackmail is possible, but it's more likely that his family is under threat. Approaching that situation will be difficult, especially since she doesn't see how she can do it without letting Ryan and Esposito know that she's still in therapy.

She smiles as her pocket vibrates on the elevator ride up to Homicide. Extracting the communication device, she punches in her code to see how Castle's responded. The first two words leave her cold.

 **I know.**

She closes her eyes briefly and reminds herself not to assume the worst. Castle's following his own agenda, but he's opening up to her. Read the whole message, she reminds herself, then figure out how they can go forward.

 **I know. Remember the enforcer I mentioned? We just tracked him down and were surprised to find a hostage. Don't say anything to your doctor, but know that his wife is safe. He'll find out soon. As for the enforcer, do you have plans tonight? It might not be romantic, but I know how we could spend some time together.**

* * *

A/N: Happy Easter! I'd hoped to do a little more writing this week, but bright sun and soft sand made it difficult to pick up the laptop!


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

Still wondering about the unorthodox date-night Castle suggested, Beckett drifts off the elevator after arriving on the Homicide floor. Movement in her peripheral vision catches her attention before she can start to type a reply, causing her to look up as Ryan and Esposito move briskly towards her. She's about to ask what's going on when Espo darts by her, catching the elevator doors as they were about to close.

"We need to hit the range," Ryan explains as he taps the holster on his hip. Beckett knits her brows but nods in reply, turning to step back into the elevator as she casually locks the communication device and slips it back into her pocket.

"What's going on?" she asks after the doors close and the elevator begins its descent into the basement.

"Kev says he needs to shoot somethin'," Esposito offers gruffly as both he and Ryan shake their heads to discourage further questions.

First Burke and now the boys, Beckett thinks to herself. What the hell is going on today?!

But, Beckett gamely follows, repaying the kindness they offered her when she asked them to a conference room to explain why she was walking away from the Cambridge case. They remain quiet during the elevator ride, disembarking on the ground floor and heading towards the firing range.

Just inside the door, Ryan dips his head to gesture to an alcove to the right. The Range Master holds up earphones, shrugging and rolling his eyes when the trio waves him off. There's only one stall in use now, at the far end of the alley, so the noise isn't yet unpleasant.

"What's going on?" Beckett asks, barely speaking before Espo's curiosity prompted him to ask the same question.

Ryan looks around a bit, making then breaking eye contact with his teammates, before rubbing the back of his neck in his discomfort. "I…," he starts, then jolts slightly as the shooter down the lane lets a multi-shot volley burst. Then, blushing at his reaction to the gunfire, he straightens and starts again. "You know I love you guys, right?"

"Uh, Kev?" Esposito reacts uncomfortably. "I don't really…"

"Oh, grow up, Espo," Beckett suppresses quickly before turning back to Ryan. "Kevin, what's wrong?"

"I need to leave," he answers, this time standing tall as more gunfire blares down the range. "You and Espo can take care of yourselves. Hell, I can take care of myself. But, Jenny… Jenny's innocent. I can't draw her into this," he explains earnestly, turning to each teammate with eyes that implore them to understand, "and I can't walk away from her. So, we need to leave."

Beckett's nodding along, trying to offer whatever support she can. After all, she's already spirited her father to safety. It'd be pretty hypocritical for her to ignore Ryan's concern for his fiancé.

Esposito, on the other hand, looks shocked. He's struggling to understand his partner's decision. Or, perhaps he's wrestling with the uncomfortable notion that Ryan's choosing to protect his relationship with Jenny over their partnership. The longer he goes without speaking, the more the tension ramps up for the other teammates.

"I understand," Beckett offers as a way to break the ice, "and I think you're doing the right thing." She's about to offer more when Esposito finally engages.

"Why now?" he asks, still sounding a little bewildered.

"Because I'm an ass," Ryan answers promptly, with a sigh. "I should've gotten her out of here already, as soon as Beckett mentioned why the mayor's under investigation."

"The mayor?" Esposito asks, knitting his brows as he tries to follow his partner's logic. "This is about Weldon?"

"No," Ryan answers, shaking his head and rubbing his neck again. "This is about power. They're going after the _mayor_ , Javi! What kind of chance does Jenny have against people like that? How the hell do I protect her from people who can take out the mayor of the biggest city in the country?!"

With an unhappy sigh, Esposito nods. But Ryan's not done.

"And that's before what happened last night."

At this foreboding declaration, Beckett and Esposito look at each other, wondering what new terror's shaken Ryan.

"Castle's beach house is gone," Ryan answers their curious looks. "Burned to the ground. Just two days after I mentioned that he might not've really sold it."

"Arson?" Beckett asks, though she knows there's little reason to believe otherwise.

Ryan just shrugs. "Too early to tell. But as we've already run across one pyro-for-hire on this case," he says, harkening back to their fruitless investigation into Ray Hudson, "I wouldn't be surprised if they've found another."

"That's why we're here," Esposito thinks aloud, gesturing to the firing range. "You think they heard you tellin' us about Castle selling the Hamptons place to himself?"

"Maybe?" Ryan replies, looking concerned. "Either they heard me, they have access to my computer, or they figured it out on their own. Two of those three options aren't good for us."

"None of them are, actually," Beckett corrects. "It was smart to bring us down here."

"Does Castle know?" Esposito interjects. He looks at Ryan, who turns to look at Beckett.

"I don't know," she admits. "I'm going to see him tonight. We can talk about it then," she suggests, though they have other serious items on the agenda already.

"Will you let him know I'd like to take his offer?" Ryan asks, blushing. "We don't need a million, but I could use a little to help…"

"I'll tell him now," Beckett offers, trying to reassure the younger detective as she extracts the communications device and starts to type while she talks. "Does Jenny know what's going on? Is she ready to go?"

"We're both ready," Ryan admits. "I was already on edge about Weldon. Now they've gone after Castle again, too. I'm really sorry about this," he apologizes to his teammates. "I know Castle said we should all make the same decision, but I don't think either of you are gonna leave," he suggests, nodding when Beckett and Esposito both shake their heads. "Maybe Castle can figure out a way for me to help from wherever we'll be…"

"We'll see what he says," Beckett interrupts, letting Ryan off the hook while also showing confidence in her partner. Esposito frowns, but remains quiet. Beckett notices, but turns back to the device to complete and send her text to Castle:

 **Ryan needs to take your offer – he's worried about Jenny. Can we arrange this tonight? He wants to help us from wherever he can, but it's more important to keep them safe. We should talk about your Hamptons place, too – what happened to it and what it means. Fun date night, right?**

It's a good message, she thinks as she re-reads it, but incomplete. With a faint blush, she adds one more line.

 **Even with everything else that's going on, I'm looking forward to seeing you again.**

"Done," she exclaims as she sends the text without showing it to the boys. Looking up, she sees them casting odd looks at each other. Well, that's not quite right. Ryan's looking at Esposito, trying to gauge his reaction to his decision to leave the team, at least temporarily. Esposito's looking down-range, clearly still trying to figure out how he should react.

"I'm gonna head back upstairs," Beckett offers softly, again trying to jostle some movement but also making her deference to the strange relationship of officer partnerships clear. Perhaps she can nudge him in the right direction. After all, she's still harboring hope that they can somehow, miraculously, go back to normal when all this is done. Castle back at her side, the boys nattering away – it's an odd thing for which to hope, she supposes, but she accepts her dream. And it won't work if Esposito and Ryan's partnership falls apart.

"You're a good man, Kevin Ryan," she assures him, reaching out to rub his shoulder. Then, after stepping over to drop a quick kiss to his cheek, she prepares to take her leave. "And you're making the right decision. Take care of Jenny. We'll take care of the rest."

"Thanks, Beckett," Ryan mumbles, embarrassed and worried. With a nod, Beckett accepts his thanks and turns to leave. Hoping for the best, she leaves the partners to work out their goodbyes.

* * *

It's been a tense afternoon, but at least they have an excuse. Not an hour after the discussion in at the firing range, Ryan's phone went off. He took the call quietly, nodding along unobtrusively, but his rigid stance caught the eye of the detectives on his team. Then, standing, he gave each of them a curt nod before walking to Gates' office. There, he explained about the stroke just suffered by his fiancé's grandmother, claiming emergency medical leave. With the expectation of his return in a week, Gates ushered him out of the office with a tone of concern that was as touching as it was surprising.

Thirty minutes later, Beckett feels the communication device in her pocket vibrate with the arrival of a new message. She waits a few minutes before calmly walking to the stairs, availing herself of the restroom on a different floor out of an abundance of caution.

 **We're taking care of Kevin and Jenny. As for tonight, can you be in front of our coffee place in twenty minutes? It's before your shift ends, but there's something we need to do before tonight's festivities.**

She's about to send a reply when instead Beckett emits an unprofessional squeak when the device vibrates in her hand, set off by the arrival of another message. After bending over to see if there are any legs visible in the neighboring stalls, she turns to the new message.

 **Dress code for tonight is business casual: sexy boots, bad-ass sidearm, and take-no-prisoners attitude. Well, that's for me, you can dress as you like. We'll do fancy clothes and flowers next time, okay?**

Blessing her partner's ability to joke even now, she chuckles as she types a quick reply. After all, she's only got twenty minutes to get moving and she still needs to invent an excuse for Gates. And probably Espo, too.

 **No flowers tonight? You're walking a dangerous line (in your sexy boots).**

 **I'm on my way, see you in twenty.**

Gates is surprisingly lenient about allowing Beckett's request to leave early to get to the pharmacy. It was an easy excuse, since having a 'doctor's appointment' earlier in the day was a natural lead-in. With them working on Beckett's cold cases and Ryan's departure, though, Gates probably figures the day's spent already. Whatever the reason, Beckett slips out of the precinct after giving Espo a nod. He probably assumes her departure is related to Ryan's flight, and maybe it is. But she doesn't want to stick around to talk about it, especially since they may now need to worry about some form of surveillance in the precinct.

Looking at her watch as she hustles down the sidewalk, Beckett's a little frustrated. She's going to barely make it on time as it is, and she'd wanted to step in the get some cups of coffee to go. It's a nice reminder of the drinks they used to share, plus – coffee. Whatever happens tonight, caffeine is likely to help.

Thoughts of being a little late in favor of getting those to-go cups are disrupted as a cab swerves next to her at the cross-walk, just one intersection before the shop.

"Get in," Beckett hears the female cabbie call out. She assumes the call-out is for someone else but glances over anyway. Behind the wheel, to her shock, sits the black woman she last saw outside the New Amsterdam Bank and Trust.

Beckett slips into the cab after one more admonishment, casually slipping her gun from the holster as she slides across the seat.

"Ms. Shipton," Beckett greets her driver with a nod. "I'd expected a different driver."

"Castle's occupied," she replies as she pulls into traffic, ignoring the blaring horns and raised middle fingers as naturally as a real cabbie. "He's extracting Ryan and his fiancé, then re-tasking that surveillance detail. We'll meet him afterwards."

"Wait," Beckett interrupts, hand still holding her weapon. "There were people watching Ryan and Jenny?"

"Of course there were," Shipton replies, looking into the rear-view mirror to let Beckett see her eye roll. "Details were assigned as soon as Laura Cambridge died."

"So Kevin didn't need to…"

"Yes, he did," Shipton interrupts. "We're spread thin. We can watch, but if something bad went down, we'd be hard-pressed to reply. His departure will help us rebalance."

"You don't sound happy about this," Beckett observes, picking up on the tone of Shipton's comments. She's heard it from her colleagues, after drawing stake-out details or being asked to cover for a colleague too many times.

" _Theirs not to reason why, theirs but to…_ ," Shipton replies in a resigned voice, letting the rest of the familiar mantra fall below the range of audibility.

As Shipton grows quiet, Beckett grows contemplative. Not about her comment – it wouldn't be surprising for Shipton to have a military background or simply a good ear for poetry. Plus, she's also smart enough to throw that out as a distraction for Beckett, to give her something else to think about. But it doesn't really matter, so Beckett doesn't need to worry about it.

Instead, she thinks about the implication of the surveillance details. If Ryan was being watched, then it's a fair bet that she and Espo have watchers, too. And maybe others. Reassigning Ryan's team will help supplement the other teams, but the more people dedicated to defense, the fewer are available for offense. Maybe she should start thinking about taking up Castle's offer, in a way. She could leave the precinct temporarily and spend more time with Castle. It would consolidate their resources, better their odds, and let them be together while they try to end this.

It might have other benefits, too.

She's surprised at how much that last reason – just being back together with Castle – is starting to be the primary consideration. Good thing Shipton's focused on driving, she thinks as she can feel some heat from her blushing cheeks.

Actually, now that she looks around, she recognizes the neighborhood they're in. Either Castle's sense of humor selected their base of operations or they're picking up another passenger.

"As you've probably figured out, we've got another pick-up," Shipton says at that moment, confirming Beckett's assumption. "Don't go up to his office," she instructs, "we don't want you seen up there. Wait in the elevator lobby. He should be down in about ten minutes, then he'll head out these doors to catch the subway. Grab him and get him in the cab."

"What can I tell him?" Beckett asks, suspecting questions, as usual.

" _Nothing_ ," is the terse response, "not until he's in the car. Twist his arm, use that gun in your hand, do whatever you need to do. Just get him back in here."

Chagrined that she never holstered her weapon, Beckett does so now.

"I'll circle the block. When I'm back, there'll be two bandanas back there. Once he's in the car, please use them as blindfolds. You can put his on first – whether you let him know that you'll be blindfolded, too, is up to you," Shipton says, sounding almost kind. "But we're on tight schedule, so please don't push me on this."

"What's gonna happen to the Burkes?" Beckett can't help but inquire.

"Depends," Shipton replies with a shrug. "Safest thing would be for them to take a long vacation or 'visit a sick relative.' If he's got patients that can't be without him, then maybe his family takes a trip and we provide him some cover."

Beckett nods, hoping Burke can live with the first option, just from a staffing perspective. She feels petty, but as someone who relies on Burke for help, she'd miss out from his absence too, which gives her some standing for her opinion.

Burke trudges out of the elevator almost exactly ten minutes later. Beckett's never seen her therapist look so defeated. That's probably because he projects an aura of confidence for his patients. But, on his own while thinking his wife's being held somewhere against her will, the therapist looks like a fragile shell. It breaks her heart a bit to see him like this.

"Our ride's outside," she murmurs as she walks to his side and links her arm through his, pulling him toward the door.

"Kate?" he reacts in surprise, trying to slow his stride.

"We need to go for a ride," she repeats with emphasis, increasing the pull on his arm to keep her moving. "I promised you I'd act quickly on what we discussed, remember?"

That's not entirely accurate – her action entailed sending a text message. Still, that prompted other actions that'll bring his situation to resolution, so she thinks it's a fair way to get him moving.

He's still obviously confused and probably a little fearful about what might happen if they're seen together, but Burke lets himself be swept along. Beckett tugs him toward a cab that's generated a little bit of a scene. There's an angry would-be passenger yelling and shaking a fist at the unaffected driver. As Beckett approaches, the cabbie unlocks the doors with an audible clunking sound.

Emboldened, the angry, balding businessman who'd been trying to get into Shipton's cab jumps in front of Beckett and Burke, grabbing the door handle to claim the cab and flashing a smug smile at the pair.

"This is an undercover operation," Beckett growls in a lone tone as she tugs her blazer aside just enough to show her badge and her holster. "Get the hell out of my way _now_ or you'll spend a night in Holding for obstruction. And I'll make sure you're not alone in there. Or lonely."

Her lupine smile is probably more frightening than the threat, but both combined convince Mr. Self-Important to release the door handle as if it was on fire. He stumbles back from the cab, tripping on the curb and landing hard on his backside, much to the delight of others on the sidewalk.

"Not exactly an unnoticed extraction," Shipton grumbles as they slide into the backseat of the cab.

"I don't know," Beckett replies, "fighting over a cab might be the best way to avoid attention. You know, just blending in." Then, turning to Dr. Burke, she notices he still looks a little shell-shocked. "You okay?"

"You're terrifying," Burke confesses, his mind stuck on the way his patient looked while issuing her threat.

Beckett shrugs, surprising unaffected. "Occupational hazard," she explains. "Now, the important stuff. Your wife is safe, we're taking you to her now," she says as she watches him sag in relief. "As you've probably figured out, we've been drawn into something pretty serious. You'll have some decisions to make soon about how to remain safe while we finish this case. Think about that during the drive," she suggests as she reaches for a red bandanna, folding it over several times. "I'm sorry, but part of keeping you safe is making sure you don't know more than you should. Please?"

At her request, Burke takes the bandanna and ties it behind his head.

"There's a hat back there," Shipton says, calling Beckett's attention to the Red Sox baseball caps behind the head-rest. "Put that on, too, so the blindfold isn't so obvious to anyone looking through the windows.

Beckett complies, stifling her chuckle at seeing her staid therapist in a baseball cap. Just to accentuate the ridiculousness, she rotates the hat a bit so the bill points off at an angle, just as it does on the perps the Gangs and Truancy officers haul into the precinct.

" _Thanks_ ," Burke grumbles, able to imagine what she's done even while blindfolded.

Beckett just laughs before grabbing her own bandanna. "Don't complain. It could've been a Mets hat."

" _Please_ ," Shipton says from the front, her comment all the more ridiculous for being delivered with a British accent. "We want people to look away. That's why it's the Red Sox."

* * *

A/N: Many, many thanks for all the comments, PMs, and reviews on this story. And *don't worry* - I won't leave this story unfinished (and still have ideas for what will follow). My writing time is more constrained lately than it has been, but that just means my updates will be a little more infrequent. I'll post more than one chapter at a time when possible (like tonight) to make up for it.


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

Nearly forty-five minutes later, Beckett feels the car go down a sharp, short decline before coming to a temporary rest. _Parking garage_ , she thinks, nodding to herself as they advance after hearing some metallic rattling.

"Please leave the blindfold in place," Shipton says from the front seat, using the singular to preserve Burke's impression that he's the only one who's unaware of their destination. He might panic if he realizes the only recognizable face here is also in the dark.

Both rear doors open at the same time after Shipton leaves the car, which means there is at least one other person here, too. Beckett's helped out of the cab by a large, gentle hand on her elbow. After a moment, she feels the hat lifted from her head and the bandanna tugged upward.

Thankfully, the parking area is dimly lit, so there's no owlish blinking to acclimate to her new location. Shipton stands before her, bandanna in hand. Turning in place, she wants to look at the man who helped her out of the cab. But instead of Castle, it's…

"Trapper John," she greets in a tone of mixed fury and incredulity. "Or should I say Talbot, William T, from Davenport, Iowa?" she whispers, making sure Burke doesn't hear anything he shouldn't. "I thought you wouldn't be cleared for any domestic operations?"

Talbot shrugs while smirking. "Good help's hard to find. Why invest the cost in shipping us to the other side of the world if there's work to be done right here?"

"My promise stands," she seethes in reply, lifting her hand to tap on her forehead to show where her bullet will enter his skull if he messes with Castle.

"Don't worry, Detective," Talbot offers in the same teasing tone of voice she remembers from the New Amsterdam. "We're all family here," he says with an insufferably smug look.

With a quiet throat-clearing, Shipton collects Beckett's attention and nods toward Burke, who's still standing beside the cab, his awkward, shifting stance a clear indicator that he's scared out of his mind.

"Doctor Burke," she offers quietly as she again grabs his arm and tugs him into motion as they follow Shipton and Burke. "We're almost there." He nods in reply and unclenches by half a degree.

After entering through a nondescript door in what appears to be an old office building, Shipton leads the procession silently through a warren of twisting hallways. Then, it's a short elevator ride to another unlabeled door that looks like it was last painted when Beckett was in kindergarten. That door admits them to an antechamber that boasts yet another door, though this one looks fierce: steel plating, hinges on the other side, and a keypad/biometric scanner combination to regulate admittance.

Again, Shipton ushers them through, finally bringing the group to a standstill in front of another metallic door. With a nod, she sends Talbot down the hall. Then, she knocks briskly, waits a few moments, and pushes the door open.

"… keep them closed, please, Mrs. Burke," Beckett hears Castle say. "It's best if you don't see the other people involved, we don't want you blindfolded again."

As Beckett moves to the door, she sees Castle rising from his seat behind a small table. Beckett leads Burke into the room and is about to remove his blindfold when Shipton stills her hand.

"We'll give you two some time together," Castle says kindly. "Mrs. Burke, you can look around and Dr. Burke, you can remove your blindfold as soon as you hear the door close. Take some time to reconnect and we'll talk in a few minutes."

Castle bustles out of the room to afford the Burkes some privacy, closing the door firmly behind him to signal his departure. He remains facing the door, though, until he hears something – a sigh, movement? – that indicates that husband and wife are together again.

Maybe it's the smile he wears as a result. Or maybe it's the stress. Or, most likely, it's just the joy she feels at seeing him again. Whatever the reason, Beckett surprises them all by greeting her errant partner with a hug and a kiss.

"I'll be down the hall," Shipton offers with a smirk. "Rick, he needs to see her while you debrief the Burkes."

Castle nods in acknowledgment bud doesn't look away from Beckett.

"Thank you," she offers once they're alone. "For taking care of Burke and his wife."

"Serendipity," Castle offers with a shrug. "But if we hadn't found her by accident, we would've gone looking."

"I'm glad it didn't come to that," she replies honestly, leaning her head against his chest. "Thanks for taking care of Ryan and Jenny, too. Are they okay?"

"They're on their way," he answers, raising a hand to rub her back. "It'll take a little time to get where they're going, but they'll be safe. Any chance I could talk anyone else into doing the same thing?"

"Doubt it," Beckett replies honestly. "Espo's gonna do his own thing. And you're stuck with me." Castle's about to let fly with a glib reply when she cuts him off. " _Although_ ," she offers teasingly, "I'm starting to wonder if maybe I should take a leave of absence and focus on this case. And the people watching me."

Castle blushes slightly and nods. "Knew you'd figure it out," he confesses to the surveillance. "But as for taking a leave, don't jump just yet."

"Oh. Okay," she replies, trying not to sound stung.

"Beckett, Beckett, Beckett," he replies in exasperation, shaking his head. "Not that I don't want you around. Although, come to think of it, my accommodations are pretty limited right now… _Anyway_ ," he says, getting himself back on track, "I'm starting to think we might want you in uniform for what's gonna happen next."

"What do you mean?" Beckett asks, her disappointment displaced by curiosity.

"You know I'm – we're after the guy at the top, right?" he asks, gesturing airily to make the point that this whole operation is focused on finding and eliminating the head of a criminal enterprise. "The guy Johanna's murderer works for?"

"Yeah," Beckett nods, remembering their discussion, and her frustration.

"I'm starting to think that our target might be more likely to come out of hiding if we take your guy alive," he explains with a shrug. "And if that's the way we want to go, you should be on duty to slap the cuffs on that bastard, right?"

Beckett can hardly believe what she's hearing. She'd give anything… well, not _anything_ , not anymore. She'd give a lot to be able to arrest her mother's killer. "Yeah," she manages to agree with her voice cracking.

"So, don't surrender your weapon just yet," he cajoles, trying to win her around with a goofy smile. "And if you're going to be at the precinct, I wouldn't mind Espo there for extra muscle."

"He's still being a jerk," Beckett offers apologetically, recalling her theories about Espo's behavior.

Castle just shrugs. "Sure. But he's a capable jerk. Now," he says, clearly switching gears, "Shipton's waiting down the hall to escort you to your next meeting. I'll take care of the Burkes, then we can really get tonight's romance started."

"With a joint interrogation of your 'enforcer'?" she suggests with a grin.

Castle shrugs. Mistaking her cross look for disagreement when instead she's concerned about his safety, Castle rambles through a quick explanation. "You can see if I've learned anything from you over the last few years."

"You've learned quite a bit," Beckett replies, thinking about his claims that due to his time at the precinct, the team wouldn't find him, his money, or his family. "But I'll be happy to _evaluate your performance_ afterward," she offers with a quirked brow.

"Deal!" Castle hastily accepts, prompting a laugh.

* * *

"Sit down, Detective," the older man commands after Shipton shows Beckett to another small room off the same hallway that hosted the Burke's meeting place.

Beckett complies, watching the man with interest. It's not Lynch, not that she thought it would be. Clearly, the man with the silver hair, gravelly voice, and piercing eyes is used to being in charge. The only question now is whether he's just a rung on the ladder or if he's the top.

"We're here to talk about the substance of faith," he says, sliding a thin manila folder across the table and placing it in front of him. He opens the folder long enough to extract a document from within. With what Beckett's sure is false gravity, he tears the last page of the document free of the binding before putting it on the table. Using the folder to cover everything except the line at the bottom, he spins the document so it's facing Beckett. Withdrawing a pen from the inside pocket of his blazer, he extends toward her.

"Sign this."

Beckett might not've pursued her dream of a law career, but it doesn't take a legal scholar to recognize that signing a contract sight-unseen is an unsound practice.

"Sure," she dismisses. "I don't think so. Not without reading it."

"Then you can leave," he replies. "Shipton'll dump you on a street corner somewhere. Good luck."

Beckett doesn't budge. "So, what? I have to show some blind faith by signing some damned document to participate in this case? Well, forget it. Where's Castle? He'll straighten this out."

"Richard signed his own paperwork. He can stay. You can't."

"There's no way Castle signed anything without Henry or Stan or whoever – probably his whole legal team – reviewing the document," Beckett dismisses. "They'd kill him before you could."

Smiling at her last comment, he just shrugs. "Henry reviewed his paperwork."

"But I don't even get to read it? That's hardly fair."

The unexpected slam of his hand hitting the tabletop startles Beckett, making her jump.

"Fuck _fair_ ," he sneers. "I'm not a judge. I'm not a jury."

Beckett assesses him anew and follows the obvious path. "So, you're the executioner. Tuweitha?" she asks, thinking back to what happened in the bank.

He just shrugs and nods, acknowledging her comment. Beckett, meanwhile, is increasingly convinced that she's talking with the leader of this operation. "The government trained you to catch killers," he explains. "It trained me to be a killer. And I," he says seriously while piercing Beckett with another glare, "am far better at my job than you could ever be at yours."

"But you can't kill people if you can't find them," Beckett replies, thinking quickly about what's going on here – why Castle's been brought in, why they're talking about using Johanna's killer to lure out other prey.

"Which is why I won't let you jeopardize this operation by chasing your own little vendetta," he replies, reaching over to tap on the paper again. "You sign, you toe the line, you become an asset to our team, or you leave."

This is asinine, Beckett realizes. It's got to be a show – there's no way a document signed under these circumstances can be binding. Well, not unless it's in a venue where the cards were already stacked against her or it's something she wouldn't contest. So, instead, this must be some kind of test. And if it's a test, she thinks, then she can score points.

"Does anything in that document threaten Castle or my ability to work with him?"

The older man stares at her, offering no immediate reaction. It doesn't bother Beckett in the slightest. She's used that technique herself and is well-versed in why it works. But the effectiveness of the silent treatment is based on the comfort and confidence of the person being questioned. She's happy to sit quietly while she awaits an answer.

Finally, with no physical movement (not even a change in facial expression), he utters a single word. "No."

"Fine, then," Beckett replies, grabbing the pen and signing the document with a flourish. "Now, where is he?"

"The enforcer?"

"No, Castle!" Beckett erupts in frustration. "Where is he?"

"You'll find him down the hall, across from the Burkes' room."

"That's it?" she asks in surprise. "No security escort, no secret oaths or admonitions about what'll happen to me if I don't follow your unknowable rules?"

"You're Richard's problem now," he answers with a shrug, content to remain seated even as Beckett stands to depart. "And we'll see how this goes," he continues as Beckett pulls the door open. "My son's previous taste in women has hardly conditioned me to expect success."

* * *

"He's your _father_?!"

Castle, caught by surprise, shoots a look at Shipton. She steps out of the room and closes the door behind her, ignoring Beckett's blush at not having noticed her and offering them some privacy.

"So, he told you he's my dad, huh?" Castle asks with a sigh. "Did he threaten you, extort you, or try to kill you?"

"I'm not sure," Beckett replies, wondering more about the origin of Castle's comment than the content of whatever she just signed. "Is he…," she trails off, changing tacks. Questions about Castle's progenitor are just idle curiosity. Time to focus on what really matters. "Are you okay?"

"It was a hell of a summer," Castle allows in a low voice, placing his hand atop the one she placed on his forearm.

"I can't even imagine," Beckett admits. Imagining paternal drama layered on top of everything else that happened this summer seems like too much. Not for the first time she wonders if the threats against his daughter aren't what kept Castle from crumbling.

"Neither could mother," he admits, wrenching up the anguish by another notch.

"Oh, Martha," Beckett groans on the poor woman's behalf. "You'd said she had some shocks over the summer. I guess this was one of them?"

"She did okay seeing him again," Castle replies while lifting his hand to run it through his hair. It's a classic sign of stress, especially since he doesn't seem to care that he's managed to create a bit of a mess. "She did less well when his wife showed up."

Beckett's hand on his forearm tightens. "Are you telling me that after disappearing for 40 years and leaving her to raise you alone, he showed up for the first time with his _wife_ in tow?!"

"She's involved in all this," Castle explains with an airy gesture. "Which makes it worse, I know. Even more? She looks eerily like mother – older, slim, red-headed. It was… I'm still not sure what to make of it. Maybe I should've asked Doctor Burke," he huffs.

"Is Martha okay?" Beckett pushes through Castle's attempt to defuse with humor. "You were hurt, she met _him_ and his _wife_ , and then she was separated from you and Alexis? She must be inconsolable."

"I've managed to visit her a few times," he replies, looking oddly touched at her concern for his mother. "I'm trying to figure out how to get her and Alexis together. And the place she's convalescing – I made sure it had a disproportionate share of eligible young bachelors as staff or guests. The only problem there," he admits, "is that the better she's doing, the less I want to hear about it."

Allowing a chuckle at his grimace, Beckett steps into him and drops a kiss on his cheek. "You're a good son," she praises. "At least to your mother, who's the only one who matters. I'm not sure how I feel about your dad."

"Call him Jackson," Castle corrects, causing Beckett to realize that the older man had never introduced himself. "It's how he's known around here and I'm not sure I'm comfortable thinking about him as my father."

"Something to figure out when this is all done," she replies. This is part of her strategy – remind Castle of things they can do after this case is put to rest as a way of encouraging him to imagine the possibilities available for the future.

"Yeah," he replies, shaking his head. She didn't mean the comment to be a reminder for them to refocus on the case right now, but maybe it's best to put the family drama on hold for now. "So," he says brusquely, signaling the change in focus. "You wanted to be here for the interrogation of the enforcer, right?"

"Right," she affirms.

"Promise me," he asks, "that you're not gonna take off after your mom's killer. Because his name's gonna come up in this interrogation," he says while nodding toward the closed blinds behind him. Beckett wants to slap herself in the head – she'd assumed the blinds obscured windows to the outside. Instead, they must look into the room in which the enforcer awaits.

"I promise," she offers freely. He looks at her for several long moments, letting her vow sink in. He gives a small nod, but Beckett wants to drive the point home. "I figured it out, Castle. If I take off, this doesn't end, right? If I take my guy down and yours runs, then you'll be lost in this case just like I was lost in mine. We're gonna be together Castle," she promises, "and that means we both need to be free."

Castle stares at her again, even more intensely this time. But she recognized the look of undisguised hope. Followed by a laugh.

"Stop it, Beckett," he chides, forcing a laugh. "You're making me all sappy when I need to be a tough guy in there. Somehow, I don't think talking about our _feelings_ is gonna get the information I need from our friend."

"You never know, Castle," she laughs in reply. "Didn't Martha ever encourage you to use your words rather than your fists?"

"With my mouth?!" he laughs again. "I'm sure she prayed for me to get into more fights at school." After accepting her nod of acquiescence, he gets serious again. "Okay, ground rules are pretty much the same as yours – stay in here, knock on the glass if something's going seriously wrong, and I'll take breaks to see if there's anything you think we should follow up on. Oh," he says while snapping his fingers, "and forget anything I do or say in there. It's gonna get ugly."

"I thought we were doing this together," Beckett reminds him.

"I'm going to do things in there that you can't do," he offers bluntly. "We can't see through the glass from that side, so I'll just comfort myself with the delusion that you'll turn around or step into the hallway for the particularly gruesome parts."

Beckett inspects him for signs of humor, but sees none. He's mentioned dark doings in their past meetings. And she has no illusions about what happened to her shooter before he died. As if to offer more proof that this won't be a typical NYPD interrogation, Castle walks over to the door and taps on it gently. The door opens enough for Shipton's hand to come through, passing a wooden baseball bat to him.

"Louisville Slugger," Castle notes as he hefts the bat and takes a slow-motion practice swing, leaving the door ajar. "Always wanted one of these when I was a kid. Not that I could really play…," he reminisces as he drifts back toward Beckett.

"Hey," Beckett says a little sharply, recalling his attention. Reaching out, she cups his cheek. "Try to get what you can without damaging yourself." Had she said it jokingly, he'd assume she was making a joke about him being clumsy. But her seriousness makes it clear she was talking about his soul, not his body. "But do what you need to do to protect Alexis." Then, gently, she leans in for a short, sweet kiss.

Castle nods as she steps back and clears the way for his departure. With a deep breath, he steels himself and strides to the door. He comes to an abrupt halt in the doorframe, though, turning and shooting her a devilish look.

"The other reason I'm going in alone?" he mentions with false casualness. "It's my turn."

Then he's gone leaving briskly. Before she can move to close the door, Shipton steps into the room to watch the interrogation with Beckett. Shipton closes the door before stepping over to the window. Reaching for the cord, she tugs the blinds upward. As it moves, Beckett sees a metal chair bolted to the floor.

The first tug of the cord shows the enforcer's ankles shackled to the chair legs.

The second tug of the cord reveals the torso of the enforcer. With wrists cuffed to the arms of the chair, his hands are fisted as he tests the strength of his bonds.

The third tug of the cord fully retracts the blinds, leaving the window completely uncovered. Beckett's unconscious growl startles Shipton, who shoots her a wary look. Beckett ignores her. Instead, the whole of her focus is on the man bolted in the chair. She hasn't seen him since he was in her interrogation room, after she shoved him and shattered the viewing window.

Her growl recedes and leaves a wide, predatory smile on Beckett's face. This time, she realizes, there's no smarmy defense attorneys circling, no precinct rules to limit the interrogation. This time, Vulcan Simmons will answer for what he's done.

Shipton finds Beckett's look of anticipation even more terrifying than her growl.

* * *

A/N: I had some troubles with this chapter (and the last). I ended up taking things in a slightly different direction than anticipated, so we'll see how that works out.

To clear my head, I started writing a little bit of the story I had in mind for last Halloween. When I'm working, I usually title my stories by their acronym (JAR, UNM, etc.). Well, this one is ICHY (for "I Can't Hear You"), which seems like a good title for a spooky story. So, I've decided I'll work on this once in a while so that if there are still people reading Castle stories in October, I'll have something ready to go.


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

A/N: It's been a while! You might want to take a look at the last chapter to reset the stage before wading into this one. Or, if you don't like the rough stuff, you might want to wait for the next chapter. More below.

* * *

Castle hasn't even stepped into the interrogation room and Beckett's already on the verge of losing control. Never content to sit back and let someone else lead an examination, she's especially on edge as she watches Vulcan Simmons through the one-way mirror. He's staring back at her – uncertain of where he is or who has shackled him to the chair, but his vast experience of visiting interrogation rooms lets him know that someone is watching. So, he poses. Muscles flexed and face frozen in a rictus snarl, he awaits his questioner while glowering at any hidden observers.

She's promised herself, and her partner, that Castle will lead and she'll control her reactions. And she'll abide by those promises. But, she really, really wishes the window was transparent so Simmons knew she was here.

"He's quite a piece of work," Shipton offers casually as she glances at the prisoner. "We were lucky to take him alive."

"He's a tough guy, always has been. We go way back," Beckett manages to reply. Honestly, she'd been so focused on Simmons and the upcoming interrogation that she'd forgotten Shipton's presence.

"Yes, that's what Rick said," Shipton notes. Beckett's brow furrows again at this comment. She's not worried about Castle sharing too much of her history with Simmons or this case. But she's growing wary of Shipton's continued references to her partner.

Her thoughts are shelved when she sees the door behind Simmons open as Castle enters the room. He steps in quietly, carefully setting the baseball bat down so that it leans against the doorframe. Bound to the chair, Simmons can't see Castle or the bat. Instead, the captive tries to ignore the presence at his defenseless back, but his discomfort is clear.

That changes when Castle rounds into view while carrying a folding chair. Simmons releases a deep, rumbling laugh as Castle sets up the chair while ignoring the prisoner.

"Shit," Simmons laughs, "I thought I might be in trouble. But it's just you."

"Yep," Castle agrees amiably, "just me."

The writer's ready and easy agreement seems to confuse Simmons. He'd clearly expected some kind of response – bluster, query, fumble, _something_. Instead, Castle sits patiently while awaiting some word or sign from Simmons.

The gangster's confusion doesn't last long. With nary a sign in advance, he throws himself forward, snarling and letting the snap of his manacles burst through the room. From someone of his size and temperament, it should be terrifying.

This time, though, it's Castle who lets loose a chuckle. " _Scary_ ," he deadpans after a good laugh.

Again, Simmons looks confused. This encounter isn't going as expected. Behind the mirror, Beckett can see the moment when Simmons decides to pursue a different strategy with Castle.

"You're a dead man, you know?" Simmons blusters, opting for a different type of threat. "You can't keep me here, and when I get out…," he trails off ominously while cracking his knuckles even with his wrists handcuffed. "When I get out, I'm gonna have _fun_. I'm gonna start with your little girl. Then your lady cop. They'll have to convince me who's better, because when I get bored, my boys get the leftovers," he promises with an ominous chuckle, thinking about handing off a plaything for his _employees_. "And you'll be there to watch it all."

Beckett wishes, surprisingly, that she could see Castle's face to see how these threats are affecting him. But he's sitting in the folding chair with his back to the mirror, so she can see only the set of his shoulders. There's no suggestion of rigidity or drooping, but that's hardly enough to…

"You have confidence in your boys, then?" Castle asks, conversationally.

"They know their place," Simmons rumbles in reply. "They'll show your bitches a good time."

Castle chuckles again, each laugh an irritant to Simmons. "Funny you mention 'knowing their place,'" he muses. "You're the top dog and they compete for the best place in your organization, right?" he suggests, watching Simmons nod almost proudly. "You're the handler and they're your dogs, bred to be vicious and opportunistic. How do they feel about you being a white boy's bitch?"

* * *

"Interesting tactic," Shipton notes. As a black woman herself, she'd wondered how hard Castle would push the racial tensions inherent in this power structure.

"Never thought I'd hear that kind of language from Castle," Beckett admits. "He's so well-spoken that he seldom curses, unless he's teasing someone."

"He's articulate and eloquent. It's part of his appeal," Shipton agrees as she watches him with a small smile that Beckett doesn't miss. "But he's smart enough to do what's necessary to get the information we need."

"So, he's done this before, then?" Beckett presses.

" _Obviously_ ," Shipton responds with turning her head, her voice betraying some impatience. "You saw what happened to your shooter."

* * *

"The hell you talkin' about?" Simmons growls, so incensed by the charge that he forgets to bluster.

"The guns, the drugs, the women – how do your boys feel about the fact that the money ends up in the pockets of a rich white man? Do they hear you calling him 'master'?" Castle asks with a laugh.

"I'm gonna…," Simmons blusters again, struggling with his bonds before getting himself under control. "Nice _story_ , writer," he sneers instead, reminding himself that he's in interrogation and would be best served by keeping his mouth shut.

"It's not a story. I know you bear all the risk and he pockets all the money," Castle answers nonchalantly. "I know that he can burn you at any moment. I know you'll go down and he'll laugh while he replaces you with a snap of his fingers."

"You don't know shit," Simmons rails again. "You think I don't know how to protect myself?"

"I think you believed a _politician_ ," Castle laughs incredulously in reply. "I think you're a gullible pawn who mistook a small bit of leeway for actual protection. Pretty funny, actually – big, tough guy like you getting conned by a pampered politician."

* * *

"A politician?" Beckett asks, mind spinning. This is what Castle promised – they're zeroing in on her mother's killer. This is why he made her promise should wouldn't fly off on a solo mission. She's imagined many villains, but a politician?!

"He is now," Shipton replies quietly, seemingly teeing up Castle's next strike.

* * *

"But he wasn't a politician back then, was he?" Castle asks before Simmons can react to his previous charge. "He was just a sympathetic ear in the DA's office who let you run amok for a nominal fee, right?"

"DA never had nothin' on me," Simmons gloats, leaning back in his chair. His seeming confidence is shaken, though, when his casual effort to cross his arms is impeded by the shackles.

"You must've wet yourself when he left the DA's office," Castle ponders, continuing his antagonism. "There went your golden ticket. But talk about a reversal of fortune! Instead of losing your protection, your master goes to Washington. New contacts, new lines of business, new money."

"I'm not hearin' any questions," Simmons replies, equanimity restored by the simple reference to his protector.

"Because I only have one," Castle says easily in reply. "And I'm not quite ready to ask it yet."

"I'm not answering shit," Simmons promises, trying again to cross his arms and looking in irritation at the restraints on his wrists. "I want these cuffs off and I want my attorney. You can't keep me here and my lawsuit for this bullshit's gonna bankrupt the city."

* * *

Beckett furrows her brow at Castle's laugh. It started as usual, but seemed to curdle mid-way through, growing sharper and ending with an edge that could cut.

"What's with Castle?" Beckett wonders aloud, unfamiliar with this dimension of her partner's personality.

"The gloves are about to come off," Shipton answers. Unlike Beckett, she seems unsurprised by this development.

"He's made allusions to this," Beckett replies, thinking back to Castle's comments about the dark things he's done since his abduction and the threats to Alexis. She didn't think he was exaggerating, but the way he sounds right now is putting her on edge, and she can't even see his face.

"He's surprisingly effective, after only a bit of training," Shipton offers, sounding impressed. "We found the rough in the diamond."

* * *

"Look around," Castle encourages his prisoner with a wide sweep of his arm to indicate their surroundings. "Does this look like a police department?" he laughs at his rhetorical question before piling on. "Do I look like a cop?"

"You're a cop's pet," Simmons replies easily. "The pussy-whipped follower getting' pumped for your money and your rep."

" _Finally_!" Castle replies in a happy voice. "It's about time you started swinging back. I've been hoping for some fire, some good lines to use in dialog. You've been very hackneyed and B-grade so far. Let's try to elevate the conversation, shall we?"

"Elevate this, motherfucker," Simmons replies eloquently with as much of a pelvic thrust as his chair allows. "Attorney. Now."

Castle shakes his head in dismay. "Oh, Virgil," he laments as he rises from his chair. "Yes, I know Vulcan isn't really your name," he offers as he starts drifting around the room. "I know all about you. You're not a dumb guy. Foolish and credulous, sure, but not dumb. I'd hoped for better from you."

"If you think you know me, then you know what's gonna happen when I get out of here," Simmons growls, testing his bonds again. "Hell, I don't even have to get out. I got friends, man. Friends who help a brother out. One call's all I need," he offers as a dark promise.

"No attorney, no phone," Castle replies as he continues his slow drifting around the interrogation room. It's bothering Simmons, who doesn't like Castle moving in and out of view. He's also starting to grow concerned that this discussion continues despite his repeated requests for his lawyer. For the first time, he considers that this might be a different situation than he's faced in the past.

"And as for your friends, they're pretty busy," Castle continues. "I don't know what the hell Sneaky Pete was thinking, pulling that drive-by in the Kings' territory last night. I mean, I know they're a rival gang, but taking a shot at Mrs. Mendoza? And from such a recognizable vehicle? That was just stupid."

"Pete's car got boosted," Simmons replies angrily before his eyes widen in realization. "You stole the car? Oh, you gonna burn now, white boy. Pete loves that car. And the Kings'll know this is all a setup. You're gonna get it from both ends, boy, and I'm gonna like hearing you scream."

" _And_ we're back to the clichéd dialog," Castle grumps. "You overestimate your pal Pete. He's not very bright. Trusting his reputation to protect his car, not reaching out to the Kings, trying to take your place – no, not very bright. And the rest of your lieutenants – Skinny, Horse, and Big T especially – they aren't very happy with Pete's attempt to take over while you're gone. So, you've got the Kings pushing from the outside and your boys fighting amongst themselves on the inside. I'm not sure you'll find your crew to be the high-efficiency criminal enterprise you left behind."

"They know their place," Simmons says again, even more ominously this time. "They'll get in line or they'll get dead. Then we'll deal with the Kings. I was looking to expand anyway. You just sped things up," he laughs.

Castle walks around to where Simmons can see him again and adopts a look of confusion. "So, you'll just walk back in and they'll stand aside? Seems unlikely."

"My boys are good, but they're like cops," Simmons replies with a piercing look at Castle. "None of 'em are strong enough. I might have to break a few," he ponders, making it clear that he's talking both about criminals and cops, "but maybe just for fun."

"You are strong," Castle nods as he continues to walk around his captive. "But you know what makes me laugh about you tough guys?" It's either a rhetorical question or Simmons chooses not to answer, but that doesn't bother Castle, who's now roaming back into the prisoner's blind spot. "You bench press, you do your squats. Your neck or your thigh is probably as big around as my waist," Castle admits while he moves toward the door to retrieve the baseball bat before continuing his circuit to end up in front of Simmons, whose eyes take in the sight of the bat.

"All that work, all that mass – it makes most of you stronger," Castle says while the pokes the prisoner in the chest lightly, acknowledging the massive pectoral muscles. "But it also magnifies your weaknesses," he explains as the barrel of the bat moves down to tap first on Simmons' knee and then his ankle. "How many football careers end with a knee injury?" he asks as he lifts the bat and puts it on his own shoulder while moving slightly to Simmons' right. "How many power lifters can't do the footwork?"

"You make a shitty bad cop," Simmons laughs, taunting Castle. "This ain't tee-ball, boy. You don't even know how to…"

But before the criminal in the chair can finish his taunt about Castle's lack of physical prowess, the bat's already in motion. Castle's a tall man with long arms. He would've missed a fastball, but his bat speed is impressive as it arcs around until slamming to a stop on Simmons' right kneecap.

The resounding crack of a shattered patella can only be heard for a short moment before a heavy scream drowns out everything else.

* * *

"Holy shit," Beckett breaths out, her face so close to the window in the observation area that her curse fogs the glass. "He did it. He actually did it."

"Simmons wasn't taking him seriously. Now he will," Shipton replies, unaffected.

"But Castle didn't even ask his question," the detective objects. "He should've gotten an answer first. Then he could see how it changed."

Shipton casts an odd look at Beckett, who finally notices and furrows her brow in response.

"I find it interesting," Shipton speculates, "that you're more bothered by his tactical plan than the explosion of violence." Her comment is all the more telling as both women realize they're having a conversation while ignoring the screaming of a large injured man just a few feet away.

"I figured things would get rough," Beckett replies with a light shrug. "But what threat does Castle still have?"

"There's still the other knee," Shipton says with a shrug of her own.

* * *

Castle hasn't been idle while the ladies had their discussion or Simmons was screaming and struggling in the chair. After placing the bat against the wall directly in front of the writhing prisoner, he's moved the folding chair to Simmons' left side. Slowly, making sure he's commanding Simmons' attention, he takes a seat.

Simmons is a wreck. He's still conscious but tears of pain streak his face. His voice is raw from screaming and his neck muscles are seizing from the strain he's putting on his bonds. His wrists bleed from his thrashing in the chair and his ankles are probably a mess, too. He's fighting the pain to focus on his torturer, trying desperately to regain enough composure to spit in the face of his enemy.

But his mouth goes dry at what Castle does next. Sitting beside the prisoner, Castle moves his right hand to his left cuff, fingers stealing inside long enough to extract one of the holstered knives that Beckett saw on his forearms their first night together. With oddly out-of-place care, Castle slides the knife into the pants at Simmons' thigh, about six inches up from the knee. Delicately, he orbits the knife around the thigh, cutting the pant leg free. With a tug to tear the fabric beneath Simmons' leg, Castle tugs the pant leg down. The material pools around Simmons' ankle shackle, leaving him looking oddly exposed with one naked lower leg.

"The problem with creating an environment that depends on physical strength, ferocity, and violence, is that you've got to be strong enough to keep your troops under control," Castle says conversationally as he holds the knife over Simmons' thigh, spinning it in place and letting its point drill a small hole in the skin.

Castle waits until there's a small bead of blood on the knife point to continue.

"I'm sure you could still control your thugs with one good leg. You could be the dapper gentleman gangster," Castle imagines aloud, smiling at the romantic notion. "After all, you could get a cane with a hidden knife or sword or something." Again, he spins the knife over Simmons' thigh to emphasize the point. "But I can't imagine you retaining control from a wheelchair."

With that pronouncement, Castle lets the knife drift downward, scratching a small furrow as it moves toward the back of Simmons' knee. "One shattered kneecap and one set of severed tendons and ligaments? All your muscles wouldn't save you then. You'd never walk normally again. You'd be a literal sitting duck. I tend to doubt that your budding sociopaths would adhere to the Americans with Disabilities Act."

"What do you want?" Simmons groans, eyes riveted on the knife.

"I know about Bracken. I know about the Forward Foundation and the money laundering. I know about your drug routes, the guns, and your trafficking operations," Castle prefaces, making it clear that he knows enough to both deter and detect a lie. "I want the accountant – I want the person who controls the money flows."

* * *

"Bracken?" Beckett asks in disbelief. "Senator William Bracken?!"

"Yes," Shipton answers with some sympathy. "Your old boss and his partners were kidnapping gangsters for ransom and he found out about it while he was in the DA's office. Rather than arrest them, he blackmailed them for the money. Your mother's efforts to get a new case for Pulgatti threatened to expose the conspiracy."

" _Montgomery_ was in on it?" Beckett asks as the tear in her heart widens.

"Yes," Shipton repeats again, "though he tried to repent. If you got Rick's letter at the bank, you know that your old captain built a file. It's been very useful so far. If we can get the accountant behind the financing, we'll know all the players and how to choke off their funds."

"And we'd get RICO," Beckett replies almost immediately. She knows she's seizing on the mundane aspects of the case in the vain hope that it'll help her function as she tries to wade through the horror of Montgomery's betrayal or the enormity of the task before her. "The RICO Act gives us more tools to track down the conspirators, more penalties, and more jail time."

Shipton looks at her sadly as she considers her next words. Finally, she opts for simple, blunt honesty.

"You don't really think we're trying to arrest these people, do you?"

* * *

"He'll kill me," Simmons groans.

"And I won't?" Castle laughs, looking toward the bat while also pressing the flat of the blade against Simmons' leg. "Seems to me you need to worry about the here and now. Your best chance of surviving is to give me the name I want so you won't have to worry about Bracken."

"I want protection," Simmons argues, voice hoarse and low. "I want assurances."

"Protection? I'll protect you from my partner, who'd dearly love to toss you into another interrogation window," Castle replies easily. "Assurances? I assure you that you'll experience nothing but blinding pain until I get the name I want," Castle promises as he reaches over and knocks on Simmons shattered knee with his fist, setting off another bout of thrashing and whimpering.

Simmons takes several long moments to calm down before he seems to be working himself towards making another demand.

Castle's done waiting. "So, which is it? The name or the knife?" he asks abruptly as he turns the knife and drives the point into the back of Simmons' knee.

"Zoltick!" Simmons gasps, stopping the knife's insertion. "Steven Zoltick. He does the books."

* * *

Beckett watches as Castle rises from the chair after collecting more information on the unfortunate Mr. Zoltick. He walks behind Simmons before bending to whisper something in the prisoner's ear. Whatever was said causes Simmons to sag in his chair, but Castle doesn't linger.

The sound of a door closing catches Beckett's attention. She's alone in the observation room. Shipton must be on the move to follow up the lead from Simmons' interrogation. Annoyed at letting herself be left behind, Beckett bolts for the door to make sure she's not left behind. She's finally got the name of her mother's killer and a solid lead to follow. She's upheld her promise to not run off on a solo mission, but she'll be damned if she lets herself be excluded from what's going to follow.

She just notices Shipton turning at the end of the hallway and hustles to catch up. It looks like they plan to move on the name immediately – Shipton's meeting with Castle's father, Talbot, and one of the other thieves-cum-agents. But Castle's nowhere to be seen. Understanding blooms quickly, despite her own distractions. Beckett pauses only a moment before backtracking toward the interrogation room.

The door to the men's restroom is across the hall from the door to the interrogation room, so Beckett takes a guess and pushes through the door with little regard for modesty. The sight before her makes her glad she did. Freed from the need to look in control in front of Simmons, Castle looks like hell. Fists braced on the counter with cold water screaming out of the tap, Castle's eyes are wrenched shut as he breathes deeply to avoid being sick. His sickly pallor, wet shirt, and general shakiness provide clear testimony of the emotional frailty resulting from his violent performance.

They'll talk about Bracken. They'll talk about the accountant. They'll talk about how this all seems to be spiraling out of control, the violence and criminals and threats and fears. But for now they will take refuge in silence. Beckett offers solace as she wraps her arms around him from behind, and he accepts it as the tears start to flow.

* * *

A/N: My hiatus stretched longer than anticipated. Many thanks for those of you who checked in. I'm on the mend after the car accident - back and neck are feeling better. That's good news for me and bad news for the story, since it means I'll be up for our big vacation next week. I'm hoping I can write on the plane flights, but laptops and river trips don't mix.

While I was recovering, a few folks really made me smile. Abettis left a very nice review on one old story and recommended another, prompting a flood of new readers. And Castlelover777 plowed through some of my other stories and made me chuckle (which hurt but was still welcomed) with some reviews. Thank you! And thanks as well to those who checked in given the dearth of new updates.

I'll reiterate my earlier pledge: this story will be finished. I'm hopeful that the updating pace will pick up once we're back from vacation. As for now, I need to catch up on reading other stories and replying to reviews.


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

"Let's go home, Castle," Beckett speaks into his back several minutes later. Her arms are still banded around his chest, where she's imagined they've held him together. He's been still for several long minutes, moving only enough to cut the flow of water he'd splashed on his face in a vain effort to wash away his sins.

"As much as I'd love that," he replies as he straightens up, "we've got a meeting to attend."

Surprised that he let her reference to 'home' pass without comment, she's not sure his alternative is a good idea. "Castle, let's take a break. It's too soon," she suggests, knowing the guilt from Castle's interrogation of Vulcan Simmons is still too jagged and raw.

"It _is_ too soon," Castle agrees as he stares at his reflection and straightens his appearance, frowning when he sees the lingering wet spots on his shirt. "Which is exactly why I need to get out there."

Finally letting her arms drop, Beckett smooths the shirt over his shoulders before stepping away. Rather that fire off a snarky comment about his crazy theories, she steps back and catches his eyes in the mirror. "Why?"

"I can't let them see me like this," he explains with a broad gesture that starts at his face and moves downward. "This is _not_ a group that appreciates or tolerates weakness."

"But you're…,"

"The boss' son?" he reacts with a mirthless laugh. "That man down the hall is many, many things. 'Father' is technically true but way at the bottom of the list. At the top? _Killer_."

When it looks like Beckett's going to object again, if only in an attempt to provide some sympathy, Castle shakes his head and tries to explain. "He's interested in me because he likes the idea of creating some kind of legacy. But make no mistake – what he wants is his name to continue in this context. I'm here because I'm his son, but only so long as he thinks he can bring me into the family business."

"And if you don't want to stay? Or if he discovers you actually have a conscience?"

"I'm using every acting trick Mother's ever mentioned to make sure that doesn't happen until Alexis is safe. After that?" he asks rhetorically as he turns to look at her directly, "I'm hoping my partner can rescue me again."

"No pressure," Beckett grumbles, though her tone is light. She steps back far enough to be able to assess Castle and help get him looking more put together for the meeting. In only a few minutes, they're moving down the hall to join Jackson and Castle's other compatriots.

The door opens and reveals a scene of tense silence. Crowded around a conference room table, each attendee looks less happy than the next. Talbot and "Doctor Huxtable," his colleague from the New Amsterdam heist, look offended; Shipton looks uncertain. Lynch, whom Beckett hadn't seen since her arrival, looks nonplussed. And Jackson, sitting regally, looks like he's ignoring them all.

"So much for being fashionably late," Castle quips as he enters, knowingly putting his foot right into the middle of this mess. Ignoring the tension in the room, Castle pulls out a chair for Beckett before seating himself at the table. Obtrusively taking in the visage of each person at the table, he laughs and leans back in his chair, tipping it onto the back legs.

"Having fun, Castle?" Beckett asks, playing along.

"Just enjoying the show," he grins in return, chuckling when some of the scowls around the table become a little more pronounced.

"The show?" Beckett asks, wearing her own wry grin, reveling in watching her partner get on someone else's nerves.

Turning to address Lynch, Castle tests his theory. "I take it Jackson just told you all that he's going to take Zoltick by himself?"

This comment commands the surprised attention of everyone in the room. While the others try to figure out how he leapt to that conclusion, Jackson levels an assessing stare. Lynch, meanwhile, cocks his head and issues a one-word reply. "Explain."

"Has to be, right?" Castle answers with a shrug of his shoulder while leaning back in his chair. "If Zoltick's our guy, then he's very good at evading detection and keeping a massive criminal enterprise running. Even assuming he doesn't have guards," Castle says while looking around the room to take in their own little security force, "he's going to have all sorts of nasty surprises. OPC switches, at the least."

"OPC?" Beckett asks, feeling left out of the jargon.

"Operator presence control," Shipton answers quickly. "Colloquially known as a dead man's switch. Or, in this case, a live man's switch."

"Right," Castle nods. "Zoltick's probably got files or accounts ready to roll up if he goes missing. And he could certainly wreak havoc if the extraction team is seen in advance. So, we need to take him quickly and silently, _then_ we need to secure information to disable any switches. Sounds like the job of a ghost to me," he finishes with a shrug.

"So why's everyone upset?" Lynch asks.

"Well," Castle starts, noting the sly look Beckett sends his way. "Jackson Pollack and his assistant are pissed for two reasons," he begins, earning the ire of Talbot and the robber who went by Dr. Huxtable. "They want to see Jackson in action. They also want to make sure they show how useful they can be so they don't get shipped out of the country."

Providing a new target for the glare of the faux doctors, Castle next turns to Shipton. "Hayley's not sure what to think. She knows that a solo mission by Jackson has the highest odds of success, but she doesn't trust that the bank robbers won't try to stage a coup or make a break for it while the boss is taking care of Zoltick."

Lynch nods as Castle turns to him. "As for you," the writer guesses, "you know Jackson can take Zoltick and every person in this building if need be, so you're just wondering why we need to waste time in discussion."

Having stifled her own grins at Castle's comments over the years, Beckett easily recognizes the look on Lynch's face.

"How is it," Jackson finally speaks, sending everyone into a state of wary silence, "that the only one lacking training is the only one who understands?"

If he was waiting for an answer, Jackson's disappointed. Then again, if he expected an answer, failure to reply would likely earn far more sinister than a look of disappointment.

"Dismissed," Lynch says abruptly, startling those who were focused on Jackson. "Be back here at 0700 for Zoltick's interrogation."

With that, Jackson rises with a feline grace and slides out of the room, Lynch following closely behind. Castle and Beckett wait, allowing the others to file out ahead of them. The "doctors" scowls at Castle on the way out, while Shipton offers a respectful nod.

"Way to make friends," Beckett grumbles good naturedly after everyone else has left. "And I'm not sure impressing your father is the best way to cool his interest in bringing you into the family business."

"Jackson will do whatever he wants," her partner replies with a shrug. "I'm mostly just having fun poking the others. Those bastards at the bank already nearly killed me, so what more can they do? And as for Shipton," he continues, ignoring Beckett's scowl as she remembers his treatment in the bank, "she could be a good colleague if her head's on straight."

So, Beckett thinks, Castle's noticed Shipton's regard. Just as well he's pushing her back a bit – it'll save Beckett from doing the dirty work herself.

Just as Beckett's about to prompt their departure, a knock on the doorframe captures her attention. "You two ready to go?" Lynch asks.

Castle nods as he rises from his chair and offers Beckett a hand up. By the time they're both standing, Lynch has already left. Castle seems unconcerned, nodding down the hallway before ambling off with Beckett at his side.

After wandering through a few security doors and down an internal stairwell, they find themselves at an internal loading dock, where a white panel van is idling. Castle opens the back door and gestures Beckett in with a sweeping arm gesture before following her in. After a quick knock on the solid partition that separates them from the driver, the van lurches into motion.

"Only the best," Beckett snarks with a raised eyebrow, looking at the dirty floor of the van on which they're sitting. "At least we've found a vehicle that's an even worse ride for you than my cruiser."

"It's role camouflage," Castle offers with a grin and a shrug. "We could've had a nicer ride but you would've had a blindfold on. And the next time you wear one of those, I'd prefer we be in a bed."

"So I don't get to see the location even after I signed that damned contract?"

"Talk to the boss," Castle offers with a shrug. "I'm not sure what he's up to, but the fact is we're both together, on the move, and out of mortal peril for at least a few minutes. I'll take that as a win."

"You expect so much," she chuckles in reply as she scoots across the floor of the van to sit beside him, letting her head drop to his shoulder. "So, where are we going?"

"My place," Castle offers quietly, letting his head fall to rest against hers. The intimacy of the moment is a good reminder that they've had a horrible day and could use some time to recover. "I need to grab some things. After that, I was hoping we could head over to your apartment?"

Even though she's surprised by how shy he sounds, Beckett's careful not to move her head to cast him a curious glance. "Please?" she asks, letting him off the hook.

Rather than answer her verbally, Castle signals his assent by putting his arm around her shoulder and pulling her in for a sideways hug as they're jostled around the van making its way through the streets of New York City.

After fifteen or twenty minutes, they feel the van go down a steep ramp before slowing to a stop and slowly reversing. After the van comes to an idling stop, a thump on the partition indicates their arrival. Castle and Beckett are still rising from their uncomfortable seats when the doors open to reveal a smiling Lynch.

"Have fun," Lynch laughs as he holds the doors open. "Just make sure you're back in time for the interrogation in the morning," he says while looking at Castle. "You've still got things to learn. As for you," he says while turning to Beckett, "get back to the precinct. We're likely to call on you in your official capacity for the next phase of this op."

Wondering again about the document she signed, Beckett still takes this as a win. If the NYPD is going to be involved, then she's less concerned about being cut out of the investigation. The last thing she needs is to wake up and read that Senator Bracken has disappeared, leaving no trace except for a dove gray envelope that taunts investigators.

Lynch, smirking as if he knows what she's thinking, offers a short salute before returning to the cab on the van and driving off, leaving the partners standing on another internal loading dock. Castle's gentle touch on her elbow diverts the attention Beckett had paid to the departing van and guides her toward a freight elevator. Using a key to activate the stop, Castle presses the call button and smiles as the doors open immediately to reveal the waiting car.

"Happy I don't have as much time to press you for details on our current location?" Beckett asks as she steps aboard, easily recognizing the reason for Castle's grin.

"I'm not worried," he answers nonchalantly, earning a raised brow. "Besides, you know where we are."

Scrunching her brow, she watches Castle press a button to send them upstairs. She doesn't recognize the number immediately, though it rings a bell in her head for some reason. Her confusion doesn't lift once they exit the elevator or walk down a back hallway, nor when Castle uses a keycard to open an unmarked door through which he escorts her. It's not until they're walking through a nondescript corporate office and Castle points to the name on a door in passing that her fog lifts.

"Jacob Samuelson?!" Beckett reads incredulously. "D'you mean this really is where you live? I was right here!"

"From what I heard, you didn't actually make it in this far into the office," he laughs, watching her scowl. Chuckling, Castle leads her to the back of the office, where he opens not an office but the locked door to a utility closet. "My humble abode," he welcomes her in with a flourish.

Beckett's hard-pressed to imagine a place that looks less like her partner. Hell, the set-up at the machine shop looks nearly as hospitable as this pathetic little closet. Off to one side is a military cot, which she doubts is long enough for Castle to lie upon without his shins, ankles, and feet dangling over the end. A stand-alone hanging rack, poised over the drain used for mops, hosts a set of clothes. On one end are the usual staples of his wardrobe – slacks, sports-coats, crisp dress shirts, a few suits, and even a tuxedo protected by a dry-cleaning bag. But it's the clothes on the other end that really catch her eye.

"Tell me you weren't the one who delivered the 'tiger survival package' to Ryan and Espo?" she asks in exasperation as she fingers the uniform of a DHL deliveryman. Next to it are similar uniforms from other delivery services, including even one US Postal Service, satchel included.

"No, someone would've recognized me," Castle chuckles again, tickled by the possibility. "That was Lynch."

"Really? No one recognized him," Beckett replies, letting her eyes drift around the rest of the room and finding very little of interest. A sink, a dresser, and two footlockers beneath the cot. "Where's your shower?"

"There's a gym in the basement," Castle replies as he grabs a military-style duffle bag from the hook on the back of the door. Moving to the dresser, he transfers some clothes before collecting a Dopp kit from the sink. In just a few minutes, he's packed and ready to go.

"Ready?" he asks, prompting Beckett to stop her vain search for some sign of personality in the small room.

"Just about," she replies with a sly look. "Grab the UPS uniform. I've got plans for it tonight," Beckett offers with a wink.

* * *

The frivolity Beckett had hoped to capture with her role-playing request has evaporated by the time their cab pulls up in front of her apartment building. They enter quietly, nodding but not speaking to the few other residents they pass in the foyer, elevator and hallway.

It had been heartbreaking for Beckett to sit in the back of the cab with Castle and feel him shutting down. The drama of the meeting and the playful reveal of Castle's austere accommodations proved only temporary distractions from the brutal violence of the Simmons investigation. Slowly and silently, Castle slid into the dark remorse Beckett had glimpsed a few times already.

Beckett doesn't break the silence, instead taking Castle by the hand and leading him into her apartment. Wondering idly about the observation team watching her place, she wonders if they're about to put on a show. Still, she focuses on Castle rather than her discomfort. After leading him through the living area, she uses her free hand to tug the strap of the duffle bag from his shoulder. Tossing it toward her bedroom, she pulls Castle into the bathroom. It's a tight fit with both of there, but even the close quarters don't provoke a comment from her usually irreverent partner.

Releasing his hand, she turns and starts to draw a bath. After testing the temperature of the flowing water, she stands, dries her hand and turns back to her partner.

He remains silent as she draws the coat off his shoulder and hangs it on the door. It's when her hands move to unbutton his shirt that he finally looks ready to comment, but she pins the words behind his lips with a gentle finger. He nods in understanding, which frees her hand to return to its previous endeavor.

A few moments later, Castle stands nude before her beside a pile of discarded clothes and assorted weaponry. When he reaches out to return the favor, she catches his wrist and instead guides him to the tub and finally breaks the silence.

"Let's get you clean, Castle."

He acquiesces as he steps into the tub. After he settles in the tub, Beckett grabs a sponge and reaches out to push his shoulder. Thinking this was about his scarred back, he'd leaned forward. He quickly learns otherwise.

With a tenderness even he couldn't have imagined from her, Beckett wets and soaps the sponge before drawing it across his chest and down his arm. It's the beginning of a slow, loving ritual of healing and absolution. Each swipe of the sponge, each cupful of water that sluices down his skin seems to wash away some of the darkness of the day. When she does finally tug him forward to tend to his back, Castle's already feeling lighter than he's felt since before that fateful day at Montgomery's funeral.

The crowning glory, though, isn't his back. It's his hair. Castle's tended to the hair of lovers and wives in the past, but never considered it something that he might enjoy in return. More the fool, he. As Beckett's fingers wend through his wet hair and tease gentle furrows on his scalp, Castle feels a tightness within him finally start to uncoil. Sparks play havoc with nerves, the electricity enlivening him. When he's rinsed clean, and Beckett helps him rise, he feels new, reborn.

He accepts a fluffy towel and sets about drying himself. After scrubbing his hair dry, he looks up to see his partner standing before him, equally bare.

"I love you," she reminds him as she takes his hand and leads him into the rest of their night.

* * *

"Damn Ryan," Esposito grouses. "This is supposed to be his job."

Beckett stifles a laugh as she looks over at her beleaguered teammate. Gates has them running backup on one of Karpowski's pending cases, leaving Beckett with phone interviews and Esposito with a mass of financial records. The printouts of those records have spread beyond Espo's desk, consuming Ryan's as well and threatening to spill over onto the floor.

"Learning to appreciate your partner now that he's gone?" Beckett asks with a perched brow.

"You should talk," he snarks back, scoring a point that Beckett acknowledges with a nod. "But, yeah. Ryan's so good with this financial crap that I forget how tedious it can be. Maybe we can ship this off to him?"

This time Beckett can't contain her chuckle as she takes in Esposito's ridiculously optimistic look. Apparently, following Castle's departure, the title of Most Averse to Paperwork went to Esposito.

"That'd be a slight risk to operational security there, Espo," she offers, crushing his hopes. "People in WITSEC don't often get presents, much less bundles of evidence from ongoing investigations.

"Come on, Beckett," he whines. "You can trust me."

Beckett's only response is a flat look.

Espo harrumphs and tries to return to his work, though his attention clearly wanders. Lunch is approaching and the creeping hunger, in addition to Espo's distraction, have Beckett increasingly on edge. By now, the Zoltick interrogation should be done, or at least yielding fruit. But she's received no texts from Castle. She's confident that Jackson's mission was successful. If not, Castle would be here or would at least have reached out. Maybe Zoltick's proving to be a hard nut to crack, though it's hard to imagine a bookkeeper who could stand against the pain that Jackson looks adept at employing.

"Incoming."

The tension in the low mumble is enough to recall Beckett's attention. This time, rather than wearing a DHL delivery uniform, Lynch strides in wearing a suit that would shame that of the vainest investment banker. He cuts through the bullpen without a diverted glance. Stopping at the door to Gates' office, he offers a crisp knock, brief introduction, and a request to move their discussion to a side room.

As the two move off to a conference room, Esposito sidles over to Beckett's desk. "What's going on? Looks like that guy's playing Fed again."

"For all I know, he is a Fed. Of some sort," she offers with a light shrug.

"Fine, but why's he here? If it was about the bank heist, he'd be down talking to the guys in Burglary."

Beckett nods along, but she's thinking about how much to share here with Espo rather than the reason for Lynch's arrival. After all, it's pretty obvious that something happened with Zoltick this morning. So, they must be thinking about the next step in the process, the one in which the NYPD is drawn into play.

"I guess we'll find out soon," she says as she sees Gates exit the room into which she'd entered with Lynch and gestures for them to join her.

"Just Detective Beckett," Gates says as they approach, prompting an affronted look. "I'm sorry, Detective Esposito, but I only have paperwork for one of you."

There, in her hand, is the paperwork Beckett signed with Jackson. Apparently, it at least included some kind of secondment protocol to transfer Beckett into Lynch's group. Now, if only she knew the identity of the group!

As Esposito makes his way back to his desk, the Captain leads the remaining trio back into the conference room.

"Detective Beckett," Gates offers with just a hint of censure, "I wish you would've informed me of your potential involvement in a federal investigation. You team is already down by one. After this, I'll probably need to add Detective Esposito to another team until we get some staffing relief."

"I don't expect our task to be protracted," Lynch cuts in smoothly, providing some cover for Beckett. "And, I believe that the NYPD will appreciate having been involved once the investigation is unveiled."

His reference to public recognition for the Department obviously piques Gates' interest and cools the small ember of ire. After all, losing Beckett from an already limited team for a short duration is a more than acceptable price for something that makes the NYPD and her precinct look good.

"I appreciate the consideration," Gates admits, turning to Lynch. "And I'd appreciate status updates. After all, we never plan for our cases to be drawn out and I'd like to have an idea of when I can expect the Detective's return."

"Of course," Lynch offers while extending a business card with contact information to the Captain. "As for now, we need to see to the Detective's briefing. We're on a schedule, after all."

Moments later, Beckett's back at her desk. Unsure of how long she'll be gone, she grabs everything she thinks she might need over the course of a few weeks. She considers grabbing the few personal decorations that adorn her workspace, but opts against it. After all, packing those would make it feel like she was never coming back, and that's a step she's not yet willing to consider.

Esposito watches in glum silence until she finally notices and turns his way. "So," he offers as he moves to stand and walk with her to the elevator, "I'm the only one left?"

"I'm still working, just from a different angle," she offers almost apologetically. "Besides, I'll be back soon."

"Alone?" he can't help but ask, causing both of them to cast a quick glimpse at the guest chair in which Castle had sat for years.

"I hope not," she answers honestly.

Espo offers no response aside from pursed lips. Then, with a quick nod, he directs Beckett's attention ahead to where Lynch awaits at the elevator door.

"Don't get shot," Esposito offers as Beckett boards the elevator. It's not the most politic of valedictions, but Beckett still appreciates the thought. Besides, both Beckett and Esposito enjoy the look of mortification on Gates' face.

"Be careful, Detective," Gates offers, cutting a look at Esposito to make sure he understands that there are kinder departing words than he offered.

"Certainly, sir," Beckett offers in reply just before the elevator doors start to close. Moments later, the elevator is gone, Beckett and Lynch whisked away.

"Back to work, Detective," Gates reminds Esposito, who'd been looking contemplatively at the elevator door. With a sigh, he turns and trudges back to his desk while Gates disappears into her office. But, rather than slide behind his stack of paperwork, Esposito instead slips over to the stairwell, discreetly palming a burner phone from his pocket.

* * *

A/N: I'm back! This story is not on hiatus, it's just been a very rough summer. I apologize for the slow updates, but fear that the next chapter will be a little while in coming unless work deadlines are extended. I also need to get busy on ICHY if I want to have that ready for October. And I've got almost 70 chapters waiting for me to read! I'm trying to finish writing before I catch up on that reading, but I wouldn't be surprised if I take a little break to catch up on some favorites like Courtship, Cats, and First.


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

A/N: A very short update this time. I'd hoped to get a bit further, but I'm likely to be called away this week. So, better to post a short chapter than to delay even longer.

* * *

" _Good morning, New York City. Our lead-off story is one that will certainly wake you up today,"_ says one the perpetually-caffeinated early morning news anchors for a local television affiliate.

" _That's right, Diana. Attendees at last night's Summit on Gang Violence were treated to far more than a keynote speech by New York's Junior Senator William Bracken. Following the conclusion of his remarks, which many expected to be a prelude to an announcement for a campaign for higher office, Senator Bracken was taken into custody by city and federal investigators."_ Looking somber, the co-host turns to follow the cue for his colleague to continue the story.

Reaching for gravitas, she takes up the report. _"Senator Bracken's hopes for higher office may now be dashed as he faces charges of murder, conspiracy, and – notable given where he was arrested – a series of racketeering charges. The RICO violations stem from Bracken's alleged involvement in gang activity spreading across the boroughs and headed by this man,"_ she says as she gestures to where the production booth as put up a mug-shot, _"Virgil 'Vulcan' Simmons, a long-suspected leader of one of the City's most violent gangs."_

" _Simmons' body was found the night before last in a warehouse in Brooklyn. The ensuing police investigation determined that the warehouse itself was owned by a number of shell corporations and business groups that were ultimately tied back to Senator Bracken,"_ the male anchor says to continue the story." _In addition to physical evidence at the scene that sources say implicates Senator Bracken, the existence of those companies and Bracken's financial interest in them is expected to lead to additional investigations and likely criminal charges."_

" _In addition, Dan,"_ the other anchor intones, keeping the back-and-forth rhythm of the broadcast, _"state and federal authorities are now investigating Senator Bracken's campaign election funds. Sources say that several irregularities have already come to light, some with the assistance of a suspected Bracken insider. While last night's arrest of the Senator is a shocking development, it may only be the first exposure of a criminal enterprise that could stretch all the way from the City to the nation's capital."_

" _While authorities follow their investigations to Washington DC,"_ Dan continues, _"city officials are already combatting the upsurge in gang activity as others vie to fill the void left by Simmons' demise. Six bodies associated with the battle for succession have been recovered, including those of Randall 'Skinny' Stevens, Thomas 'Big T' Tompkins, and an as-yet unidentified male suspected to be an enforcer for the infamous Kings gang."_

" _While Bracken faces federal charges in an undisclosed holding facility,"_ Diana takes up the story, driving towards conclusion, _"he is expected to be arraigned later today, consistent with New York state law. Stay tuned for updates on what will certainly be a headline story for weeks to come. Now, let's turn things over to Lisa, who has an update on yesterday's bizarre Sixth Avenue fight involving three nannies, two strollers, a jogger, and a hot dog vendor…"_

* * *

"You're in early this morning," Captain Gates notes, her tone making it clear that's she's not surprised to see Beckett stationed outside of Holding. "Don't suppose I need to ask why you're here? Or is this part of your temporary federal assignment?"

"I'm keeping my eye on the prisoner," Beckett answers with a nonchalant shrug, unwilling to delve into her connection with the charges levied against the senator.

Gates looks like she isn't fooled but pursues a different topic. "I'm surprised no one knows he's being held here, but we both know that'll change soon as word gets out. Is holding him here at the 12th part of a political statement," she asks, peering down the hallway to see if the prisoner is in sight, "or is there something else going on?"

Nodding at her boss' insight, Beckett gives a rueful chuckle as she acknowledges that a private bet with Castle about this turned out in his favor. He'd wagered heavily on Gates knowing both that Bracken was in house and that putting him there served several purposes. "It's a bit of both. Involving the NYPD makes the department look good, and holding him here makes us at the 12th look better. I'm told it's a bit of a thank-you for allowing me to participate in the effort."

"Despite your obvious conflict of interest…," Gates continues, proving that she knows that Beckett's tied to Bracken by the identity of one of his victims.

"No," Beckett reacts immediately. Seeing Gates about to speak, she raises a hand to forestall comment. "Yes, he orchestrated my mother's death. But that means my interests are aligned with his prosecution, not in conflict."

"Regardless, you're compromised," Gates replies, unimpressed with the semantic argument. "If this were my case you'd be nowhere near it. Is your new team aware of your connection to the prisoner?"

"It's one of the reasons I'm on the team," Beckett acknowledges with a nod. When Gates raises a brow to learn any other reason, the detective remains quiet.

Realizing that Beckett's already inured to her disappointed stare, Gates returns to the previous topic. "I cut you off. You were telling me why Bracken's here and I had the feeling there's another reason you haven't mentioned."

"At least one," Beckett replies, unable to resist teasing her boss. She knows she's playing with fire, but without Castle's around, someone needs to irk the authority figures now and then. At least that's how she rationalizes it to herself. "It also means that we get to do a little perp walk when we take him out of here for arraignment and interrogation later today. I suspect the media will be unusually prescient in anticipating where and when the senator will make his appearance."

"Is that wise?" Gates asks, surprised by this answer. "If the charges are true, then there must be security risks associated with exposing Bracken for transit. The 12th won't look so good if a transferee is attacked on our turf."

"It's covered," Beckett answers casually.

Too casually.

"What's going on?" Gates asks, dropping her voice.

"Believe it or not," the detective replies with a small smile, "it's all part of the plan."

* * *

Chewing on the lip of the paper coffee cup Esposito brought her fifteen minutes ago, Beckett can't stop staring at the clock. So much of the plan for today depends on timing. The group Castle's been working with seems efficient, but there are so many things that could go wrong…

Finally tossing the cup into a nearby bin, Beckett admits to herself that it's not the timing that has her on edge – it's Bracken. In all her fantasies about apprehending her mother's killer, there was always some confrontation, some opportunity for her to verbally lacerate her demon, to tear him down and return the pain and suffering that's been coiled in her gut since she was nineteen years old. And yet she hasn't said a word. He's 25 yards away, down a simple concrete corridor, hidden in a cage that prevents escape but not words.

And yet she hesitates.

At first, she waited for privacy. After that, she waited to ensure that her assault was structured and honed for maximum effect. But then she noticed Bracken looking fearfully at her. She realized, in that brief moment where his composure slipped, that he's worried. Here she is, the daughter of one of his early victims. She's spent her life preparing for this moment. But her failure to attack has him worried that she has something worse in store for him. It's got him on edge, and seeing a seasoned politician trying to hide his trepidation provides a rush of avenging glee that thrums through her system.

No, she'll let him sit and worry. The fact that something far worse _*is*_ on the way only makes it that much easier.

At 7:50, a troop of helmeted escort officers emerges from the elevator. Clanking and thunking in their heavy boots and equipment, they immediately attract Bracken's attention. The four burly men make a scene out of signing the desk sergeant's paperwork at the registration desk, their intent to take possession of the prisoner telegraphed loudly and intentionally.

"Hey!" Bracken shouts down the hall. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but I'm not going anywhere without my attorney."

"Yeah," calls out one of the escorts, probably the leader, as he lifts the visor on his helmet to reveal a challenge-wearied face. "'Cause this is a voluntary trip and you're the one in charge." His laugh turning into a cough that has him turning his head a spitting onto the floor, the lead escort ignores the look of distaste from the desk sergeant as he starts strolling toward the holding cell. "Your transfer's down for 8:00 – that's when we're leaving, whether your babysitter is here or not."

"Then it's a good thing I'm here to protect my client's constitutional rights," calls out a voice from behind Beckett, causing heads to swivel. There, slipping into Holding and cutting a path towards the guards, is a defense attorney who's obviously immune to the threats of police. He moves with easy freedom, his gait and demeanor declaring his remit just as much as his fabulously expensive suit. Without pausing his stride, he slips a hand into a slim attaché case and releases several papers to float down to sergeant's desk.

"Who are you?" Bracken asks, having expected his usual attorney. "Where's David?"

"You will escort my client and I to a room where we may speak in private," the attorney commands of the escort leader, while holding up a finger to temporarily put Bracken's questions on hold. "While we speak, you will move that ridiculous entourage I saw parked outside. My client will be escorted into an armored vehicle with tinted windows in the basement of this facility – I'll not have your incompetence putting him in a situation where his honor or safety might be jeopardized out in the open."

The leader of the escort team looks increasingly sour. He also looks like he's about to blow his top. But the attorney interjects again before he can say a word.

"You may claim my client and I at 8:20, which still provides ample time to arrive at the courthouse on time. And _you_ , girl," he says, turning to point to Beckett, "will collect the garment bag containing my client's change of clothes from your security desk and bring it to us immediately. I'll not have my client before a judge looking like a disheveled commoner."

The silence after the attorney's commands suddenly stops proves eerie. The escort team look at each other, then the desk sergeant. The desk sergeant, meanwhile, has been at the 12th long enough to know that talking like that to Beckett is a good recipe for pain, so he's watching her with an odd combination of wariness and excitement about an imminent explosion. And Beckett, herself, contents herself to level a calculating stare at Bracken.

"Well? _Get on it_!" the attorney barks, startling the escort team into motion.

Beckett spins on her heel, heading toward the security desk to collect Bracken's clothes. Her movement breaks the stasis of the escort team, which splits apart to provide an escort to the prisoner and a pair who head out to make the changes regarding the prisoner's transportation to the courthouse.

Beckett walks slowly, allowing the escort team to get ahead of her. As she leaves Holding, she strains to hear the attorney finally address his client's questions.

"My apologies, Senator," the attorney says in a much more soothing, conciliatory tone. "David sends his regards and I expect he'll join us later today. As for this morning, I know the children we're dealing with here and how to handle them."

To think, Beckett reminds herself, this could've been her job had Bracken himself not knocked her off her career path so long ago. Disgusting. Still, she slows her stride just enough to hear the attorney's next words before she departs.

"Allow me to introduce myself, Senator," the attorney says. "My name is Jacob Samuelson…"

* * *

A/N: Should I be called away this week, a few long plane flights should allow for me to get some writing done. Although I'm not sure I should bother. My middle child started high school two weeks ago. I reviewed her first writing assignment this evening and it blew me off of my chair. Clearly, she's the writer of the family and I'm one of those thousand monkeys pounding on a keyboard.


	26. Chapter 26

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

"Beckett? What're you doing here?" Espo asks, surprised to see the team leader he thought was running around with Castle and the feds.

"Walking off my irritation," Beckett growls. She knew that Samuelson had to bully the officers to ingratiate himself with Bracken, but really – ' _girl_ '?! Moving the convoy to pick Bracken up has also hit an unexpected snag due to construction outside the precinct. So, even though they'd planned for Samuelson's change of transportation, they're at risk of running late. "They're still arranging the motorcade for Bracken so I thought I'd wander up here and see how things are going with you on Karpowski's team."

"Bo-ring," Espo enunciates slowly, blowing out a large breath. "Roz stuck me on phone and financials! I've got enough paperwork of my own – I don't need hers, too!"

"Poor baby," Beckett pretends sympathy. "But I know Roz. She wouldn't've stuck you on paperwork unless you ticked her off."

"It was one little comment!" Espo grouses. "Seriously. Ryan and I kid each other all the time."

"About how good you look in tight pants?" Beckett hears from behind her. Turning to see Karpowski's raised brow, she greets her colleague with a nod before turning back to see a chastened Esposito.

"Uh… yes?" Esposito mumbles, thinking it's better to get teased for that offense than to admit that he said something about Roz's rear view that he shouldn't have.

"I always suspected," Beckett nods sagely.

"Me too," chimes in LT while walking behind Esposito. The tall, laconic officer pauses just long enough to shoot Esposito a look that promises this episode will not soon be forgotten.

"Fabulous," Espo grumbles as he lets his head hit the desktop. "Paperwork _and_ humiliation. Thank you _so much_ for abandoning me, boss."

"As if you don't get in trouble with our regular team?" she laughs as LT walks off and Karpowski makes her way to her desk.

"Nah, cause then I can pin it on Ryan. Irish always looks guilty," he chuckles, glad to be talking with Beckett again and that the witnesses to his embarrassment have moved off.

"Yeah, it'll be nice to have the team back together again," Beckett admits, though she's thinking more about Castle than Ryan.

"That gonna happen anytime soon?" Esposito asks, curious about any developments.

"Not sure. Bracken's arraignment is the next step, but there's more after that. We'll have to see how it goes," Beckett shrugs as she takes a quick glance at her borrowed watch. "Speaking of, I'd better get moving."

"Hold on," Esposito asks. "How'm I gonna keep up with you guys? If you're running around with Castle, I can't just call, right?"

Beckett purses her mouth and shakes her head slowly. "We can't bring you in on this Espo. You heard Gates."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Espo replies quickly. "But I should have a way of getting in touch. You never know what's gonna happen around here." Pausing before looking over both shoulders, he leans forward and lowers his voice. "I know," he declares with a snap of his fingers. "You're gonna be with Castle, right? Give me the communication device you use to contact him. That way, I can send you guys a message if I hear anything and you can get a hold of me if you need help."

It's not a bad idea, Beckett admits. Having a secure link to an extra source of help would be a nice insurance policy. Objectively, it makes sense. Irrationally, though, Beckett admits she's wary of giving up the device that arrived in the box that Castle said 'wasn't the one he once dreamed of giving her.'

Cursing her sentimentality, Beckett heaves a sigh and reaches into her pocketbook. Slowly removing the communications device, she runs her hand over it before reluctantly holding it out to Esposito. "Take care of it," she instructs while reaching for a post-it pad and a pen so she can jot down the access code. "I want it back in one piece."

"No worries, Beckett," Espo replies as he carefully receives the device and slides it into a pocket. "Trust me – I know exactly how valuable this is."

* * *

Standing between Castle and the erstwhile Trapper John, Beckett fights the urge to fidget. After departing the precinct, the morning's gone to plan so far. But she won't feel at ease until they're out of this parking garage and safely tucked away for the next part of day's festivities.

She's also glad for the dim lighting here in the garage. The man to her left must be at least as anxious as she is, but he proves to be a bulwark of calm patience. What she wouldn't have given to see some of this aspect to his personality during their time together at the precinct before her shooting! She's not sure whether this is a long-hidden trait or something he's developed following his harrowing summer, but she appreciates it enough that it reddens her cheeks.

To her other side is Trapper John, her one-time tormenter, the mercenary who's still a bit of a mystery. Whether he's cowed by Jackson, excited by the opportunity, or planning something untoward is still unclear. Still, she's hunted criminals for far too long to give him the benefit of any doubt. The dim lighting shades the scowl she'd point in his direction. But as she doesn't really hide it, he's seen it already.

Her thoughts are broken by the squeaking of tires on the floor of the garage as a black SUV with tinted windows pulls around the corner. Finally. They must've gotten hung up after leaving the courthouse following the arraignment.

"Where are we?" Bracken asks as he's helped out of the vehicle by members of the escort team. "This isn't the precinct."

"It's somewhere we won't be hounded by the press," Samuelson replies calmly. "I insisted on using the temporary space into which the authorities were forced to expand due to asbestos removal operations," he explains with a smirk. "There's no chance that the media or any freelance paparazzi would expect to find us here."

Mollified by his attorney's answer, Bracken relaxes slightly. He still levels a fierce look at the escort team leader who prods him to move forward with a gentle hand to Bracken's elbow. Pulling his arm out of the team leader's grasp, Bracken falls into step beside Samuelson, shuffling along as if wearing manacles as well as handcuffs. He takes a slight sidestep when he sees Beckett, unable to hide his apprehension about her presence. He looks away quickly, his eyes falling instead on Castle. His brows raise in confusion as he can't help but wonder at writer's presence, given his disappearance after the summer.

The escort team guides the disgraced senator to a service elevator but depart from there, leaving only the quintet of Bracken, Samuelson, Beckett, Castle, and Talbot. With this unmistakable indicator that something's going on, Bracken casts questioning looks at his silent attorney. Castle still looks stoic and Talbot looks like he knows how to use the weaponry strapped to his body. But it's Beckett who looks terrifying as her calculating stare at Bracken's reflection in the elevator doors makes it all too clear that she's pondering different ways in which to harm him.

A short elevator ride leads to a nondescript hallway. Castle leads the group down the hallway past several unmarked doors before finally opening a door with a flourish. Talbot leads the way, followed by Bracken and Samuelson. Beckett brings up the rear, sighing slightly as they finally enter the next stage in today's plan.

The room surprises Bracken, though everyone else knew what to expect. Rather than an interrogation room or law enforcement facility, they're in an old office that's been converted into a large space with several different areas. Lynch sits at round table to their far right. He looks oddly studious with rimless glasses perched on his nose as he surveys a table full of paperwork, ignoring for the moment the news feed on the muted television next to him. The other members of Talbot's crew sit on the sofa and lounge chair pulled up to a coffee table where playing cards are strewn. The pile of cards on the table show that they've already dealt him in. Beckett's just figured out that they're playing poker when Castle sends her a hopeful look. She huffs out a laugh and shakes her head while imagining the trouble Castle could get into fleecing a group of mercenaries.

"This way, Senator," Samuelson says before Bracken can question the odd set-up. Following out of habit, the Senator moves towards the other side of the room. He walks easily as he takes in the kitchenette and refrigerator, but his steps come to an abrupt halt when he sees the back of a metal chair bolted to the floor, facing away from the rest of the room.

Bracken lurches forward after being prodded none-too-gently by the stock of Talbot's automatic rifle. Stumbling, the Senator can't quite catch his balance as he moves towards the chair. Castle intercepts him with a hand to the shoulder. The move spins Bracken in place while a small shove from Castle drops him into the chair.

"What's the meaning of this?" Bracken barks as Castle moves behind him and places his hands on the Senator's shoulders to hold him in place. Talbot, meanwhile, removes Bracken's handcuffs before using the restraints built into the chair to secure the prisoner to the chair. Then, with a smirk, he walks away to join the card game.

"Well? _Answer me!_ " Bracken commands weakly as Castle and Samuelson also move away. Locked into the chair, Bracken cranes his neck as far as he can to the left in a vain effort to track the men as they retreat towards the lounge are on the other side of the room.

Turning his head back, Bracken jolts in his chair when he sees Beckett sitting in front of him. Somehow, she managed to approach silently from his other side, a move that puts Bracken even more on edge.

"Hello, Assistant District Attorney," Beckett greets in a low, calm voice.

Bracken swallows at this salutation, taking a moment to gather his courage. "I'm a senator, detective, and one who will use all his power to bury you. Any prosecution you hoped for me is blown to hell thanks to this little false imprisonment facility you have here."

Bracken's starting to feel pretty good about himself. Sure, the unorthodox arrival and facility put him off his game, but speaking with authority brings it all back. He eats lobbyists and politicians for breakfast – he won't be cowed by a mere cop.

His bravado falters, however, in light of Beckett's cool, unbothered gaze. "You are ADA Bracken," she repeats as if talking to a particularly dim student, "because that's what you were when you made your worst mistake. You've been a dead man walking since then, so any titles afterward are ephemeral. Transitory. Worthless."

Beckett grows quite after that declaration, letting it sink in. Bracken's brows knit as he considers her words and the explicit threat they contain. He's about to object when she interjects again.

"And as for prosecuting the case against you," she leans in with a predatory gleam and chilling chuckle, "well, your confession makes that a moot point."

"I have not, and _will_ not, confess to a single, god damned charge," Bracken hisses in reply, his shock at her audacity overwhelming his fear of her.

"But that's not what others will think, is it?" Beckett asks calmly. "You disappeared after your arraignment. Your escort team will report back to the precinct that you were transferred into the custody of federal officers at an off-site facility."

Bracken pales as the implications of his circumstances start to sink in. But Beckett doesn't relent.

"From outside perspectives, it'll seem like you've spent the day passing along as much information as possible in a desperate bid to avoid incarceration. They'll start to wonder," she speculates with a lupine grin, "exactly how willing you'll be to sacrifices others to save yourself. And then, of course, the confirmation will arrive."

"Confirmation?" Bracken asks, hating how weak his voice sounds and that he spoke at all, but still unable to resist.

"First will be the call for your transfer to a safe-house. That wouldn't happen unless you took a plea deal that required your ongoing cooperation," she explains needlessly to someone who studied the law, even if he didn't abide by it. "But of course that call will only go to federal law enforcement authorities, so we know it'll held in strictest confidence, right?"

Of course it won't. Anyone interested in Bracken's situation will have moles, or will just buy a round of drinks at one of the bars frequented by officers on the case. To think this information would be confidential is laughable, and they both know it.

"No one will buy that," Bracken suggests weakly, though he's unwilling to bet his life on that supposition.

Beckett only smirks in reply. "Second will be the financial moves. In fact, anyone paying attention might've already noticed your assets being withdrawn or transferred to new accounts in recognized tax havens."

"Bullshit," charges an even paler Bracken. "You need that money for prosecution. Besides, you have no idea…"

"ADA, you seem be a little slow on the uptake. You won't live long enough to worry about prosecution. And the best part is that I don't have to do a thing," she promises with another vengeful look. "Just imagine – a quick press release praising you for your cooperation, a note about how you're returning to your roots and helping us with our investigations, and a wave as we drop you off at your offices. How long do you think you'd last before your friends picked you up? The machine shop is no longer available, but I'm sure we haven't yet sold all of the facilities registered to the dummy corporations we've found. How long, ADA, do you think you could hold out under your friends'… _motivated_ questioning? How long before they start to think you might be telling the truth about not selling them out?"

Where he'd looked pale before, Bracken is now an alarming shade of green.

"You've always been a coward," Beckett assesses almost conversationally. "Paying or relying on others to do the physical work on your behalf. Well, this time you'll have a front seat view." Beckett pauses, seemingly wondering if she's pouring it on too think or reveling too much in the politician's discomfort. A quick hand gesture pushes the concern aside. "I wonder how much of you will be left for me to find?"

Bracken's eyes dart madly around the room as he realizes how few options remain. However, even as these thoughts threaten to coalesce into a desperate strategy, Beckett drops the final hammer.

"And, of course, with your accounts bled dry, you've got nothing left with which to bribe authorities or hire more thugs and assassins. You should've treated Zoltick better," she opines with a sad shake of her head. "He's proven averse to remaining in your employment. In fact, he's reveling in the new opportunities we've offered. He's very creative and not a little vindictive. My colleagues," she offers with a vague wave toward the other end of the room, "wanted me to pass along their appreciation, by the way. Operations like this aren't cheap, and your contributions are greatly appreciated."

Surveying Bracken, Beckett considers again whether she's gone too far in her explanations. It seems anticlimactic. Her personal demon sits broken and mute before her. No more bluster, no more threats. He hasn't even tried to bargain or rationalize. He seems so small. It makes her wonder how someone of such insignificance could've caused such pain and devastation.

Deciding that she's devoted too much of today, of her life, to this wasted soul Beckett stands and starts to move back toward where Castle awaits with an attentive look on his face. Just as she's moving past Bracken she hears a low mumble.

"Why not just kill me?" he wonders aloud.

Unsure of whether his comment was an inquiry or just thinking out loud, Beckett decides to leave him with one final thought. It's one she's fully embraced, much to her surprise. She'll have to think long and hard about its implications for her career and soul.

"Because you're bait."

* * *

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty."

With a low groan, Beckett takes a moment to let her head clear. Rubbing her eyes buys her a little time and provides a nice little light show behind her eyelids.

"Sleeping Beauty was awoken with a kiss, not a nudge to the shoulder, Castle," she remonstrates. Taking daytime naps always leaves her a little disoriented. Teasing Castle seems like a good way to get back on track.

"Yeah, well, Prince Charming didn't have to worry about hidden weaponry, hand-to-hand assault proficiency, or proximate mercenaries of dubious loyalty or intent," he reasons. "But, if you insist…"

"Better," Beckett compliments as she sits up and leans into Castle's side as he perches on the side of the cot. "What's going on?"

"Time to move to the safe-house," he offers apologetically. Her opposition to laying down had been fierce, even if it evaporated quickly. But her concession to acceding to his request was a one-hour wakeup call. Clearly, he cheated. "You needed the rest. Your conversation with Bracken was the exclamation on a remarkably trying day."

"The day's not done yet," she replies, her comment making it obvious that she's not going to complain about his decision not to play alarm clock.

"All the more reason you needed the rest. We're going to be tested tonight."

With a nod and a long stretch, Beckett agrees and finally moves upright. Castle hands her the sidearm she'd placed under the pillow with a wry grin. His smile practically screams 'we're quite the pair.' Whenever they next manage to sleep together, they've likely have the most heavily armed bed in the borough.

The transfer to a new facility seems to go without a hitch. Bracken is an empty shell, shuffling along without a word or glance for anyone, not even the attorney who'd duped him so well. Only the squawking reports from their surveillance teams interrupts the silence of the drive to the safe-house, the staticky-staccato bursts providing assurance of their safe transport.

The only sour note is confirmation that Beckett doesn't know their full plan. Upon leaving the facility, Beckett marked two observers who looked out of place. A sedan with darkened windows seems to track them for a handful of city blocks, though it eventually peeled off. She raised both observations to Lynch. He didn't disagree with her threat assessments but they didn't seem to bother him. Nor were they a surprise.

Their new quarters are obviously of official federal origin. Beckett almost bangs her head on the wall at the sight of it – every single furnishing in the room was obviously purchased off the Government Services Agency supply lists. Hell, there're probably requisition and delivery forms for how everything got here. Clearly, the "safe" in safe-house refers to the assurance that any Congressional inquiry into spending won't find excess here. As for the informers or witnesses who make use of the facility, it's amazing any of them have survived.

Lynch sends her a look of sad exasperation. He's clearly had similar thoughts. When they worked out the plan for how to deal with Bracken, Beckett had wondered why they were so convinced the safe-house would be assaulted. Now she wonders how they were able to get in the door before the assault began.

"Hardly seems 'safe,'" she articulates her thoughts. "We sure we're not going to be over-run?"

Castle huffs a laugh but leaves the assurances to Lynch. "They'll send a light push tonight. Like you said," he offers with a respectful nod, "they'll just test to see if Bracken's actually here and under what circumstances. They can't afford to send a whole team yet. But, once they confirm he's sold them out, they'll come in force."

All heads turn to look at Bracken, but he didn't even reply to the aspersions cast in his direction.

"Right," Lynch says directly, unsurprised by the senator's reticence. "I'll get Chatty Cathy here locked down. Start the sleeping shifts. They're not likely to move before 0200. The longer after that, the less serious the push. But I'll be shocked if we haven't heard from them by 0600."

Lynch is right, of course. Beckett stayed awake for the first two shifts and brooked no argument in light of her earlier nap. In fact, she'd insisted in shoving Castle into a bed as he needed rest, too. She'd even consented to tucking him in. Ridiculous man.

He even slept through the attempted incursion that arrived just after 0500. It wasn't much – a diversionary move on the door to the apartment while spotters from a nearby building peaked in windows and through walls with infrared scopes. The number of bodies surrounding Bracken clearly demonstrated both that this was a serious operation to 'protect' the senator and that it would take more than one operative and a few spotters to extract or silence the assumed traitor.

Castle stumbled into the kitchen an hour later looking adorably mussed. His bed-head, puffy eyes, and general look of befuddlement prompted a few grins and snarky comments, but the din died down as his stiff amble to a seat reminded those assembled of the injuries he'd already suffered. Still, the light mood returned with the arrival of coffee and the confidence of events going to plan.

"Okay, next phase," Jackson interjects to immediately silence the frivolity of the morning discussions. "Things have gone well so far, so there are no adjustments at this stage. Pack it up and be ready to leave in ten." With that, he disappears just as suddenly as he has on other aspects of the operation.

"It's how he leads," Lynch says quietly at her side. She's not surprised he recognized her assessing looks and thoughts about Castle's father and why he's been so absent so far. "He develops the plans. Then he goes into the field. Says he can see better from there how things are going. I might complain," he leads and neither Castle nor Beckett point out that Lynch obviously wouldn't complain, "but he's also our best field op. Truth is, if something goes sideways, I'd rather have him out there and moving than holed up in a command center."

"Based on whatever he did to capture and convert Zoltick, I won't object," Beckett replies to the sight of affirming nods.

"It'll be his objections we'll need to worry about if we don't get moving," Lynch reminds them as he rises from the table. "Detective, there's a car downstairs for you. Complete your objective then reconnect with us at the fallback position. Castle, we leave in five."

Castle nods and, to no one's surprise, accompanies Beckett as she moves to leave.

"I'm not thrilled by splitting up," she admits, "even if it makes sense."

"I'd think this part of the plan would make you happiest," Castle chides from her side, softening his words with a light bump to her hip.

"Telling my new boss what's going on? Yeah, that'll be a real blast," Beckett replies with a sizable eye roll. "She's going to be a nightmare of officious interrogation. I should just call in. Except only _some people_ seem to be able to get her to chat on the phone," she harrumphs while cutting her eyes at her partner.

"She'd never believe _you_ ," he replies with a small, his tone suggesting that Gates would believe Castle if he were to make the call. "But this isn't really about bringing her into the loop to help – we've got that covered. This is smoothing the way so that when this is all finally done, you can go back to the precinct."

"With my partner," Beckett replies immediately, slowing to a halt and turning to face Castle. "If… _When_ this ends," she corrects herself, "I'll need to think about my career and what I want to do now that mom can rest in peace. But if I do go back, I need my partner."

As the sole object of Beckett's wide-eyed, insistent stare, Castle can only nod in agreement. In truth, he's struggling to get over his shock. That 'if' in regard to Beckett's return to the precinct tilted the world on its axis.

"Good thing the new boss likes me better than you," he teases as he tosses an arm around Beckett's waist and gets them both moving again. "Don't worry – I'll put in a good word for you."

Beckett can't help but laugh at that concept. "My mind shutters to think what a positive recommendation from you might mean. Or what Gates might assume it means."

"From a paragon of virtue like me?" Castle asks with a haughty tone. "She'd probably expect my recommendation to arrive on two stone tablets."

"Great, we're adding blasphemy to our challenges for the day," Beckett grouses with a smile.

"I always told you being with me would be like a religious experience."

"You're unbelievable," she laughs again as they approach the car requisitioned for Beckett. "Thank you for distracting me," she says as he holds the door open for her. Of course she recognized why the banter picked up since leaving the safe-house – doesn't mean she doesn't appreciate it. "Keep an eye on Bracken but take care of yourself. I'll be praying for you," she says with a quick kiss that suggests her comment might be harkening back to that banter.

"Of course," Castle replies as he moves to close the car door for her. "Make sure you hug Victoria for me."

* * *

"Mister Castle is involved, isn't he?" Gates asks after Beckett provides her explanation for why Bracken has not returned to Holding. She's not surprised her new captain figured this out so quickly.

"Yes. He's the one who convinced them to bring me onto the case."

"So," Gates asks while thinking aloud, "did he lie to me about leaving to address a family matter, or does he, too, have an obvious conflict of interest?"

"He's never lied to you, as far as I know," Beckett replies carefully. "As for a conflict of interest, he's not in law enforcement. He's advising the people I'm working with."

"It still appears unseemly," Gates ponders without heat. "But I guess that's not my call. And as long as it's on someone else's head, tell me this – is Rick okay?"

Beckett huffs a laugh, though she's not sure why. "That's a good question. I think so. He's so invested in protecting his family that he won't really be okay until they're safe. But we're making tangible progress, so I don't think he could be better."

That should be enough of an explanation to satisfy Gates. In fact, Beckett should be thrilled that her captain seems to care about Castle. And she is thrilled. But she's also greedy and Gates has provided a perfect opportunity. "There is one problem, though," Beckett adds leadingly.

"Oh?" Gates takes the bait.

"He's proven very effective to the new team. They're already trying to make sure he sticks around after the conclusion of this operation. Depending on…"

"Hold on," Gates interrupts with a raised hand, looking perturbed. "You're telling me that after the NYPD absorbed the costs of tolerating, educating, and training Mister Castle, the feds think they're just going to swoop in and steal him away? Oh, no," she says more fiercely than Beckett expected. "No, no, no. That's not how this works. I think Rick and I need to have a little talk. Unless you see things differently?"

"No, sir," Beckett replies quickly, hiding her smile. "We're in the critical stages of our operation now. In fact, I need to rejoin the team soon. But I'll start laying the foundation with Castle so he's ready for your talk."

"Excellent," Gates nods her approval. "Best get moving then, detective."

Beckett's nearly to the door when Gates stops her, forcing an odd sense of déjà vu. "Two last things, detective. First, what I said about Rick applies much more to you. I want you back, with or without your partner. Don't underestimate the precinct's regard for you."

"Thank you, sir," Beckett replies quietly, deeply touched. She hadn't thought this was a comparison, but Gates' interest in recouping the NYPD's investment in Castle might've prompted some insecurities somewhere down the road. It feels good to be appreciated for her own skills.

"And second," Gates continues with an odd look. "' _Laying the foundation'?_ What a horrible, horrible double entendre. You'd better tighten up your language before your writer returns."

Beckett's not sure which is worse – being caught out for her poor turn of phrase or Gates' guffaw that follows her blushing departure.

Or option three: blushing. That's the worst, because she's still radiant when she exits Gates' office and nearly runs into Esposito.

"You okay, Beckett?" Espo asks with concern. "You look flustered."

"It's nothing," she assures him, anxious to avoid any explanation. Espo still looks curious, so she needs a diversion. Might as well touch base with Castle. Hearing that their plan continues apace would ease some of her anxiety, plus she can return the favor by letting him know that Gates seems amenable to his eventual return.

"Hey, Espo, grab the communications device and meet me in the gym downstairs," she says quickly over her shoulder as she turns toward the stairs. "I need to grab something out of my locker before I get moving."

Minutes later she's exiting the locker room with duffle bag in hand. Espo's the only one in the sparring area, which is dimly lit since no one's using the facilities right now. The darkness seems appropriate to sending a text on a secret communication device in the middle of a secret operation, she thinks to herself. Castle would just love this.

As she strides toward Esposito, though, something in his posture catches Beckett's attention. He looks apprehensive, withdrawn. Something's not right and it's unlikely related to the paperwork duty he's pulled for Karpowski's team.

"You didn't break it, did you?" Beckett asks with a teasing voice, trying to get her teammate to loosen up. Her intent backfires, though, as he looks even more uncomfortable.

"Look, Beckett, I don't have it here…"

Beckett's shocked by the anger that swamps over her immediately and completely. Why the hell wouldn't he have the communications device here? The whole point was to allow him to communicate with them! No, there's no reason for it to be anywhere but in his pocket.

Unless using the device to communicate wasn't why Espo wanted it.

Suddenly, the questions click into place just as quickly and succinctly as they do during a case:

\- Espo's had an attitude problem about Castle ever since she returned to active duty. Why would he need or want to communicate with Castle?

\- Their enemies seem privy to their investigation. How long was it after Ryan suspected Castle didn't really sell the beach house before it burned to the ground?

\- Espo stayed. Ryan left to protect Jenny, Beckett left to work with the feds, and Espo stayed to do paperwork for Roz instead of accepting a million dollars from Castle to provide a 'clear field'?

\- Lynch wasn't surprised by the surveillance she noticed when they left the facility where she'd had her talk with Bracken. But how could their enemies have tracked them down? With the communication device in hand, could they trace the signal back to Castle?

Before she's even aware of it, Beckett's taken a large step away and drawn her service weapon on Esposito. There is no thought about their years together, the times they've saved each other's lives. There is only the lancing pain of betrayal and swift desire to contain any danger.

"Beckett, wait…"

"Shut up, Espo," Beckett growls in reply. She's in a horrible tactical position and it's making her jumpy. At any point a colleague could enter the gym. They'd not recognize the dire situation – no, they'd probably assume it was training. And that's all Espo would need to move on her or make a break for it. "Turn around, hands on the wall."

"Just let me show you this," Esposito urges in reply, his hand already moving toward his sternum to duck beneath the jacket he's wearing.

"Espo, I don't want to shoot you," Beckett tries to growl again, though she can hear the desperation in her voice. "But I will. Move that hand any further and I'll put you down."

His hand freezing in mid-air, Esposito stares at Beckett. There's something assessing in his look – she doesn't think he's trying to decide if she'll really shoot him or not. It looks more like he's weighing her in his mind, grading her on some unknown scale. After what seems like several long, tense minutes but was probably only a few seconds, he gives a tiny nod before spinning and putting his hands against the wall.

"On your knees," Beckett commands, unwilling to take any risks. "Cross your ankles. Lace your fingers behind your head."

Esposito suffers his indignities in silence. Even as she wrenches his wrist around after applying the cuff, he doesn't so much as grunt. It's not until his wrists are both restrained behind his back before he says anything.

"My left breast pocket," he offers quietly.

Still wary of a trap, Beckett circles her teammate several times as if assessing the possibility of a trap. Slowly, she approaches close enough to bend over and twitch his jacket open. She jumps back as if expecting a reaction. Without chagrin, she approaches again when nothing happens, this time reaching warily into the pocket Espo indicated. Her fingers scrabble against the edge of something. Ever so carefully, she clasps the object and pulls it out. After all of the stress of the day, the turmoil of nearly shooting her teammate, she can hardly believe it. But there it is, right in her hand.

Another dove gray envelope.


	27. Chapter 27

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

From last chapter:

Still wary of a trap, Beckett circles her teammate several times as if assessing the possibility of a ruse. Slowly, she approaches close enough to bend over and twitch his jacket open. She jumps back as if expecting a reaction. Without chagrin, she approaches again when nothing happens, this time reaching warily into the pocket Espo indicated. Her fingers scrabble against the edge of something. Ever so carefully, she clasps the object and pulls it out. After all of the stress of the day, the turmoil of nearly shooting her teammate, she can hardly believe it. But there it is, right in her hand.

Another dove gray envelope.

* * *

 _Beckett,_

 _If you're reading this, then you've discovered one of my contingency plans. I shouldn't be surprised. I mean, come on – I started following you because you're the best investigator I've ever known, real or fictional. So, I can hardly be upset that you've solved yet another mystery._

 _Ah, but how to convince you that this letter is actually from me and not a convenient misdirection? After all, you've probably made Espo aware of my little missives. If so, he's aware of the symbol I leave in my signature, so that's hardly proof of authenticity. Let's see – perhaps one of these will suffice?_

 _* I've been looking for an opportunity to get you to another gala since our first year together. You might not have been comfortable, but you don't have the slightest idea how radiant you were that night. If we make it through this, I'm going to forego pretense and take us out again._

 _* Perhaps that last one is too obvious. After all, I was hardly the only one who noticed how beautiful you looked that night! So, something more personal: Stephanie Wyatt. She was the first girl who held my hand. We were twelve. (Well, I was. She was an older woman of 13. Trust me, the 'age difference' contributed to the illicit thrill!) It's one of those moments indelibly etched in my memory. But it pales to near insignificance compared to when you held my hand after I survived my encounter with Tyson. I needed nothing more at that moment than a connection, a reminder. You anchored me that horrible night in a way that I can neither describe nor hope to match._

 _* Hmmm, went from obvious to maudlin. Let's try this proof instead. You might think (without any justification whatsoever) that I don't always listen to you. I can guarantee you're wrong. When a voice is as enticing as yours, I can assure you that I welcome every utterance with rapt attention. So, perhaps you can imagine how desperate I was, and still remain, to hear you finish what you started to say in that refrigerator car._

 _* Am I embarrassing you? Yeah, that's probably not fair. So, for my final proof I'll turn the tables on myself and say only this: I totally peeked._

 _I'll trust that you'll accept at least one of these as proof that this letter was written by your partner. That probably won't assuage any of your concerns, but it should at least shift the focus of your ire to me. So, please don't maim Espo. It's hardly his fault that *someone* impressed upon me the need to have proper backup. He's been an asset during this operation and has been working to keep me safe. So, please be kind to him. I ask this on his behalf and totally not because we agreed that he gets to apply to me double any injustice you visit upon him._

 _Castle_

 _PS. They say confession is good for the soul. I think they're right, so I'll say it again:_

 _I totally peeked._

 _And it was glorious._

* * *

Damn that man. She should be furious, and she is. But she can't deny that his stupid letter has already affected her. And in front of Espo! Who, come to think of it, is still cuffed and on his knees in the middle of the sparring area.

"We need to talk," she says gruffly as she clasps Espo's elbow and helps him stand before moving around to uncuff him. As he rubs his wrists, she quickly folds the letter and tucks it away. It'll get stored away with the rest, though this one falls into a special category. Still uncertain whether that's a good category or bad, she decides to leave that decision for later.

"Not here," Espo answers as he walks away, leading her toward the janitorial closet.

"Great," she mutters to herself as she follows. "'Cause catching us together in there will totally start fewer rumors than having you cuffed on the mat…"

The smell in the closet is disgusting, to no great surprise. It's just as well as she doesn't have time to linger.

"How long?" she asks while he's still drawing the door shut and locking it behind them.

"Since that day when he gave us the history lesson, when he sold the Haunt," Espo replies, the twist of his lips conveying his thoughts about that meeting.

"That long? And you didn't say anything?"

"What was I supposed to say, Beckett?" Espo fires back, getting surly himself. "You _know_ how this works – if I was gonna play the mole, we had to sell the role. It was already risky to assume that a member of his team would be approached. Any hint that someone else was in on it woulda ruined the whole thing. And that probably woulda gotten us killed."

"But why you?" Beckett asks, launching a question in her haste to keep the discussion going after his answer hit home.

Espo recoils from the ridiculousness of the question. "What, you think it should've been you? That'd never work. Besides, it's not like I'm proud it was me. You know what he said, back then? ' _Hey, Espo, Ryan couldn't pull this off, but they'd believe you'd turn on me_ ,'" he shakes his head at the recollection. "Nice to know that betrayal looks so good on me."

Given some of the snide things Espo's said about Castle, or the way he treated the writer when he was here, Beckett privately agrees with Castle's assessment. Espo might not be proud of the characterization, but he's earned it. Although saying that now is hardly going to move things forward. It's better to tie this off and get moving, Beckett decides, especially because the real conversation needs to happen with Castle.

"Are you part of the plan for dealing with Bracken?" she asks instead, presaging her imminent departure.

"No," Espo answers, looking annoyed. "At least not yet."

"Stay close," she confides, "and be ready. This'll all be over soon, maybe a day."

Eyebrows launched, Esposito gives her an incredulous stare. "A day?!"

"That's the expectation. I need to get moving so I don't miss my part of the action," looking at the watch on her wrist, Beckett does the calculation and decides that her time is up. But there's one thing left to say. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For needing to secure you to figure out what's going on," she replies honestly. She's not sorry for what she did – her actions were perfectly justified in the circumstances. But she is sorry that things advanced to the point where Espo saw the business end of her gun barrel and felt her cuffs around his wrists.

Espo nods at the answer, unsurprised. "Would you've done it?"

"Done what?"

"Shot me," he asks in a calm voice.

"Yes."

Espo stares at her again, giving her the same look he did before he decided to stand down and let her detain him. "Good," he declares with a decisive nod. "Stay smart like that, Beckett, and you might actually survive this thing."

* * *

Her drive to the wharf gives Beckett too much time to think. The doubling-back and evasive course corrections during her route should've commanded more of her attention as she worked to ensure that she wasn't followed, but her mind stays on Castle's latest letter. Well, less the letter and more his decision to enlist Espo without telling her. She didn't need Espo to remind her of the tactical justification for the secrecy; hell, there's even an advanced course at the Academy that encourages development of contingencies for complex undercover investigations.

Beckett admits, in the midst of another radical course correction, that she's not offended by Castle's initial actions. She's hurt. Esposito has been in the loop longer than she has. It's childish and petty, perhaps, but it still stings.

Plus, she thinks as her indignation starts to flare, there's no reason Esposito's role needed to remain secret after Beckett was more involved with the operation. She's made her allegiances clear, both to her partner and to his shadowy father. She's even signed paperwork, dammit! She should've been told.

By the time she parks down the row from the scummy warehouse that serves as their next fallback position, Beckett's worked herself into a fierce temper. She fully recognizes that her ire is a poorly-fitted coat to wrap around her deeper fears and concerns but embraces the feeling anyway.

It's not until her walk from the car to the warehouse that she starts to settle down. It's a hard pill to swallow, but Castle's actions are textbook for this kind of operation. Maybe that's another source of annoyance – after _years_ of undisciplined irreverence, he follows the rules only _after_ he leaves the precinct?!

But that's not fair either, she admits. Things changed after her shooting and his assault, so she can hardly fault him for being more serious. Besides, of all the cases to treat seriously, shouldn't she be pleased that he's being careful in bringing down the conspiracy around her mother's murder?

When she delivers the prescribed pattern of knocks to the side entrance to the warehouse, she's calmer but more confused. Castle notices immediately as he opens the door to usher her inside. With a concerned look, he draws her in and, after locking the door again, directs her not to the office where they've set up but instead to a quiet corner surrounded by busted pallets and cast-off binding materials.

"Beckett?" he asks with concern as he focuses on her. "Are you okay? Were you followed?"

She slowly shakes her head. "I don't think so. Not sure they'd need to follow me, though, if they can trace your communication device," she answers, watching her partner for a reaction.

He doesn't try to deny or dissemble. "Yeah, the communication device was enough to lead them here. So," he says as if bracing for a potential assault, "you spoke with Espo."

"Yeah," she huffs mirthlessly, "after I pulled my weapon and had him cuffed on the floor."

If she expected him to be embarrassed or chagrined, she's disappointed. Instead, he gives her a slow nod. "Knew you'd figure it out."

"Why, Castle?"

"Why did I enlist Espo," he asks to clarify, "or why didn't I tell you?"

"Either. Both."

Castle nods again, takes a moment to frame his reply, then starts his explanation. "The people we're after are smart – too smart to proceed without someone on the inside. We took a hard look at the staff of the precinct and couldn't find anyone who was obviously compromised, so we created the opportunity for Espo to fill the role. He's got enough experience to pull off an undercover assignment."

"As do I."

"Beckett, I'll take my lumps for some aspects of this plan, but not that one. We both know you couldn't've played the turncoat," Castle reacts immediately, shaking his head. "The only way anyone'd buy that is if we manufactured some massive fight to convince everyone we were at odds. And even then," he continues, sounding morose at the possibility, "they still wouldn't trust you. They'd suspect a romantic aspect behind a rift, and those are notoriously transient and volatile."

Beckett considers his explanation. It's plausible. Probable, even. If it were anyone else, she'd believe it. But she knows her partner well enough to know that there's more to his story. "And…?"

"And you remember what this summer was like," he answers quietly. "It was hard to tell what was going on with us after your time away and my… what happened to me. We were both going through a lot. But Espo hasn't changed in years. I knew exactly where I stood with him and how easy it would be for him to attract attention."

"By badmouthing you."

"Some assignments are more fun than others," Castle cracks a smile. "I'm sure he enjoyed his sanctioned excuse to pile on."

"So, you approached him after our meeting at the Haunt?" she asks, driving the story forward and getting a nod in reply. "And, what – you fed him information to pass along?"

"No. He needed freedom to operate – our deal was that he'd do what he needed to do to gain their confidence and stay safe."

"Stay safe?!" Beckett replies heatedly. "They burned your house to the ground!"

"Which was part of the plan." Noticing his partner's incredulous look, he elaborates. "The house wasn't occupied," he explains as he raises a finger to start ticking off his points, "I'd removed what I cared about, and I knew they'd need proof that Espo was invested. So, better a building than a person."

"You planned to lose the beach house," Beckett states, thinking out loud. "Everyone else was protected and… and the other buildings would've risked collateral damage," she realizes.

"Exactly. Can you imagine if the Haunt burned or the loft exploded? Both buildings have other residents who would at least lose their homes or livelihoods, if not their lives."

"I understand," Beckett acknowledges his point, which actually showed some canny forethought. "Still, losing the beach house, especially after moving out of the loft…"

"It hurt. I've got a lot of fond memories there," Castle admits quietly. "But you can't be dealt in if you don't pay the ante."

Beckett nods again, following his line of thought. Revealing Castle's retained ownership of the beach house probably credentialed Esposito in a way that passing along gossip couldn't match. It was expensive, but Castle's made it clear that he'll sacrifice his wealth to protect his family. Hell, maybe he was insured. His investigation into Ray Hudson's insurance fraud would've reminded him even if it hadn't been part of his initial plan.

"So, you knew they'd compromise someone, they'd raze your house, they'd try to stop you," Beckett summarizes. "And you were clever enough to map it all out and stay ahead of them. But you weren't clever enough to confide in me?"

"You know more than Espo ever could," Castle reacts, shaking his head. "You didn't know what he was doing because you didn't need to know."

"And what else do you have in the works that I don't need to know?" Beckett challenges, though she knows she's on shaky footing. After all, the letter explaining Espo's role mentioned it was _'one of'_ Castle's contingency plans.

Castle doesn't bite. Instead, he shakes his head again and takes a moment to relax lest he charge in and say something unfortunate. "Beckett, you know how this works. Contingency plans don't work if everyone knows about them. You know that better than I do. So, what's really bothering you – that I didn't tell you about a back-up plan that could've easily remained hidden? Or that the plan of a lowly writer seems to be working so far?"

"That's a horrible thing to say," Beckett replies immediately.

"It is," Castle agrees. "Though I think that's at least part of the issue."

Beckett ponders his explanation. Is that's what's got her on edge – that Castle's plan seems to be working? He's been elusive throughout his mission to protect his daughter. He's accurately predicted his quarry's actions and countered them in advance. He's brought in support and used it effectively. She should feel proud of his efforts – after all, he's mentioned how much he learned while at the precinct. So, shouldn't she feel like a proud mentor watching her protégé excel?

She shakes her head to clear it of the distractions. She _is_ proud of Castle. But that's not really what this is about. Instead, she's back where she was when she first figured out what he was doing. It's frustrating, she realizes as she shakes her head again, since she thought she'd gotten over this.

"I don't like not being in control," she admits in a small voice, looking down.

"I know," he replies quietly, avoiding the easy laugh and instead engaging directly. "I know you don't. But you know what, Beckett?" he asks rhetorically before forging ahead with his answer. "I'd rather not be the one in charge. This is all about Alexis. Once she's safe, I hope to drift back into the background, assuming good ol' dad will let that happen. But you know I can't change anything before then."

"Not until she's safe," Beckett allows with a nod, wondering if Castle's plan to 'drift back' encompasses writing or the precinct but wary of taking the conversation in that direction right now. Instead, she turns back to the details of their operation.

"So," she prompts, signaling her change in topic. "Espo ingratiated himself to set this up?"

"Exactly," Castle agrees. "They let you leave the safe-house without trouble because you were traveling alone. But we were followed here. The communication device has their attention. We'll use it to lure the bad guys to our next stop. They'll surround us when we assume we're safe and hunker down."

"So this is it, right? The final step of the plan?" Beckett confirms, proving the prescience of her comment to Espo.

"If all goes well," Castle confirms.

"Then lead the way, partner," she encourages. Her simple comment conveys several messages – her desire to bring this operation to a close, her satisfaction at doing it with her partner, and her comfort with the rationale behind Espo's role. "It's time."

* * *

 _What a piece of junk_ , Beckett thinks as she surveys the rusted and reeking trawler to which Shipton shepherds Castle, Beckett, Samuelson, and the quiet half of the thieves from the New Amsterdam heist. Castle's dad and some of the fake doctors from the New Amsterdam are already in the advance position awaiting their arrival. If the plan works, the departure of this group – along with Castle's communication device – will signal to their adversaries that they're both regrouped and vulnerable. So long as the established defenses hold, those hoping to besiege them will instead be trapped.

It seems like a pretty risky plan, but Beckett admits her position here is fragile and that trying to muscle in on the tactical aspects might see the end of her continued inclusion. Instead, she hopes the skills demonstrated by Jackson's group thus far remain sharp. That, and she's resolute about staying by Castle. If this all goes south, she'll grab him by the scruff of the neck and haul him out of trouble.

Milling about the warehouse for a few hours to await dusk has left the group tense and irritable. All except Bracken – he's been collapsing in on himself since yesterday, the condemned man who realizes he has no options, no friends, and no hope. Beckett doesn't try to muster any sympathy.

Boarding the boat doesn't help, as it smells even worse than it looks. Remarkably, the stench doesn't abate as they cast off and head downriver on the Hudson (and Beckett's pretty sure it's not Bracken, who was unceremoniously thrust into the trunk cabin for the trip). She laughs to herself when she sees Castle scrunching his nose. He might be showing operational chops she never suspected, but it's good to see some of his fussier attributes still shining through.

"What are you smirking at?" he whispers after he steps away from the stern and takes a position next to her. "You realize it'll take a week to get this smell out of your hair."

" _You're_ worried about _my_ hair?" she teases in reply.

"I love your hair, always have," he confesses with a roguish smile. Casting her a look, he takes a few steps to come up behind her, standing close enough to feel without actually making contact. Slowly, he reaches out and grasps a curl and twists is around his finger while leaning close to her ear. Inhaling deeply, he brazenly nuzzles her ear before whispering into it. "Just imagine – we're all done here, safe and vindicated, nestled away in some absurdly large and luxurious hotel suite," he husks seductively, setting a wonderful scene. "And then, with a deep breath," he says as he inhales again, "we get eau de New Jersey. _Not_ romantic."

"Guess we'll just need to start with a long session in the tub," she husks in return, surprising herself with how deep voice. "I'll need _lots_ of attention and _lots_ of shampoo. Perhaps you'd oblige?"

"I could be convinced," he replies, taking a quick moment to lift both hands to her head as he runs his fingers through her hair while massaging her scalp down to the base of her neck. It's a tantalizing preview of what could follow if all goes well.

"Do that for real and you could convince me of just about anything," Beckett hums, letting her head fall forward.

" _That's_ what I did wrong while I was at the Precinct," he chuckles as he steps into her, obligingly moving close enough for Beckett to nudge him with her elbow. "Here I was wasting my time bringing you coffee when a few little head massages and we could've been chasing aliens, spies, and the spirits of long-dead conspiricists!"

"Probably," Beckett admits, hoping his massage skills live up to the hype, "though bringing me coffee is never a waste of time. But I think you did okay as it was. You got Russian gamblers, dominatrixes, psychics, counterfeiters, fake vampires, Egyptian curses, and a case full of soap opera suspects. With a lineup like that, just imagine what we might find if you come back!"

She'd meant the comment facetiously, but as soon as it slipped out she found herself tensing. With the seriousness of their current endeavors, she's not allowed herself to think about what might happen if – no, _when_ – they successfully finish this case. Castle's situation with his father is precarious and the last thing she wants to do is spook him away from thinking about what might happen for them in the future.

Castle's hands first clasp and then rub her upper arms, silently urging her to relax. "I do imagine what might happen then, Kate," he confesses in a low tone. "I'm not sure how this will all work out, but I've started to think about what opportunities we might have if things go well. Maybe I should resent that you've diverted my focus, but having an incentive survive what's coming is a powerful thing."

"Hey, lovebirds!" Shipton calls out from the stern, interrupting their moment. "Now that the sun's set, it's time to do some work, yeah?"

Beckett turns, and with a vexed look reaches up to rub Castle's cheek before nodding, kissing his other cheek, and shuffling toward the rear of the craft.

With Samuelson looking on, Shipton's opening a large locker that serves as the stern transom of the boat. She directs Castle to help her extract the contents, a mound of black rubber. Flipping up a hatch reveals a long hose that attaches to a valve in the rubber. As the raft starts to inflate, Shipton points to another locker from which an electric outboard motor and battery and lines are extracted.

Fifteen minutes later, a small raft bobs quietly beside the trawler. Getting it ready and in launched without stopping was a bit of a pain, but they didn't want anyone tracking Castel's communication device to notice a pause. So, instead, they kept pace and wrestled with the raft, nearly losing Shipton and then Castle over the side before they managed to complete the process.

"In you go," Shipton announces, finally. "We're coming up on your stop."

Since Samuelson's an attorney, Beckett expected him to depart. She's surprised, though, when Shipton points to her and Castle, too. She's about to ask what's going on when Castle shuffles towards the raft, nodding his head to get Beckett to fall into line. Samuelson brings up the rear, jumping onto the raft with a surprisingly nimble hop.

"Castle?" Beckett asks while her partner takes his place in the back of the raft.

"Sorry, Beckett, I'm driving," he says with a fake smile. A quick glance up at Shipton, who's waiting to cast off their line, causes Beckett to hold any questions until they're away. It doesn't take long before they're cut loose from the trawler and Castle starts the motor. Neither the low electric thrum nor the lapping of the waves against the raft are loud enough to cause Beckett to raise her voice.

"What's our next stop?" she finally asks, nervous about splitting from the group when she understood the next section of the plan had everyone converging at the fallback position.

"There," Castle points toward the front of the raft, where a warehouse complex is coming into view. "There's a van waiting for us after we ditch the raft." It's not what he says but what he does that catches Beckett's attention. While speaking, the hand that was on the throttle lifted slightly and signaled her to remain easy. His quick nod to Samuelson makes it clear that Castle doesn't want a full discussion in front of an audience.

Beckett takes the next ten minutes to rest and try to relax. She slides to the bottom of the raft, letting the motion of the water, the sound of the waves, and the presence of her partner lull her into a restful state. When the whirr of the motor slows, she pops up to see them pulling aside a dock made for much taller ships, though a ladder extends downward. Samuelson in perched at the front of the raft, reaching out to catch the nearest rung as the boat glides in.

Samuelson finally snags the ladder and pulls himself up. After climbing a few rungs, he turns to offer a hand to Beckett, who instead turns to Castle, who's already eyeing the river and looking anxious to depart.

"Castle?" Beckett asks, wondering about what's happening.

"You can get out if you want, Kate," he says, recalling his attention to her. "It might be safest if you did. But I'm not going to sit this round out."

"Imagine that," Beckett huffs in reply. "Rick Castle ignoring directions. Guess I'd better keep an eye on you," she teases, though her serious look belies her appreciation of the risks they face.

"You're not coming?" Samuelson says while clinging to the ladder and looking increasingly uncomfortable.

"We've got a different stop," Castle explains tersely. "Good luck."

Samuelson nods before starting the long process of climbing the ladder. Castle, meanwhile, turns back to Beckett while maneuvering the raft to point back towards the heart of the river.

"Following another crazy theory, partner?" Beckett asks, shaking her head slightly as she braces for the wild ride.

Casting her a sly smile, Castle opens up the throttle. "There's no way my dad expected me to sit out at the end of the op. I've come too far and have too much at stake to even think about it."

"You think he did this on purpose, gave you an order he knew you'd refuse?"

"Yeah," Castle replies, eyes scanning the river as the raft slaps along. "He either wants to sow a little chaos by having us enter as free agents or he wanted to test Talbot and his crew."

"What do you mean, 'test'?" Beckett asks warily.

"Whoever we're after is well-connected and well-funded. That's a good combination for winning the loyalty of opponents, especially opponents whose loyalty had been secured by excusing them from a prison sentence. I suspect dad's counting on us to make sure nothing goes wrong."

"Let's see – we've got government agents of some kind, thieves of dubious loyalty, a homicidal senator, a shadowy adversary, and our master tactician got caught naked on a horse. What could possibly go wrong?"

"Good point," Castle replies with a smile while reaching into his jacket and extracting a burner phone that he tosses to Beckett. "Call speed dial number one. Let's invite a sour, ex-Special Forces sniper double agent to the party and see what happens."

* * *

A/N: Apologies for the slow update on this story. We're nearing the end, and I'll try to be better about updating frequency. As some of you know, I'm still battling some health issues that arose in the summer. They are slowing me down enough that I might need to consider taking some time off work to get right. I'm hoping to avoid that possibility, but we'll see.

Clearly, my story for the Halloween fest isn't happening this year. I've got a bit of it written and still like the idea, so I'll just pursue it on my own schedule. But not until this story's complete!


	28. Chapter 28

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

Espo's waiting for them as they pull up to the dock, looking ridiculous.

"A _guitar_ case?" Castle laughs as he takes hold of what Espo passed down to him before he lowered himself into the raft.

"I got my insertion backpack in the case. You really think a regular gun case would draw less attention?" the sniper growls as he nearly loses his footing while Beckett starts maneuvering the boat back into the center channel of the river.

"How many people would know what a sniper case looks like?" Castle wonders aloud, letting his gloved hands slide down the guitar case. "Besides, you never struck me as a guitarist."

"Why not?" Espo growls in reply, wrenching the case out of Castle's hand and stowing it gently before hunkering down in the raft. "And answer carefully, 'cause that's not the only gun I've got on me. One reference to 'more cowbell' and I'll use it."

"It's like talking to Beckett, this disturbing propensity for violence," Castle grouses quietly before cutting her a quick look. With the noise of the motor he knows there's no way she could've heard him, but he's still nervous about her raised brow. "Anyway, I always pictured you as more of a DJ than a lead guitar-type of guy. You know, performing out front but with your tools around you."

"Well, that's okay then," Espo replies after some brief consideration. "Now, enough with that, tell me what's going on and why I brought my rifle to this freezing-ass joy ride on the river."

Castle settles in front of Espo, pulling a file out of his jacket and unclipping a small lantern that had been attached to the side tube of the raft.

"Simple setup," Castle starts while holding the folder in place so it doesn't blow away, dropping into a tone of voice appropriate for briefing but still speaking loud enough to be heard over the wind as they skim across the water. "The main team's in a riverside meatpacking warehouse. The refrigeration requirements mean thick walls, insulation that'll impair infrared scopes, and separate rooms as fallback positions."

"Nice," Espo comments, looking at a small overhead drawing of the layout.

"Riverside access will be blocked by two trawlers, each of which will have a fortified emplacement with sufficient firepower to deter an approach from the water."

"That your exit plan, too?" Espo asks. "Not gonna get away fast in a trawler."

"No," Castle replies, shaking his head. "Too obvious, since that's how we'll arrive, though we'll turf our raft there as a distraction. We've got vehicles inside and a bolt-hole if we need to hunker down. But we're not planning to escape. No need to flee when you're the last one standing."

"That'd be nice," Espo agrees with a pragmatic nod, "but you know it never goes down as planned."

Castle agrees with a simple shrug and returns to the briefing. "We've got forward positions here, here, and here," he says as he points to the drawing. "They'll wait until the building is assaulted, then engage to catch the assault force from the rear and flanks."

"How many?"

"Ten. Three teams of three on the outside," Castle answers quickly. Then, with a sigh that's barely heard over the noise of the motor and the water passing beneath them, he adds: "And one free agent."

Espo furrows his brow and scowls. "A floater in the middle of all that? He's gonna get dead real quick, shot from one side or the other, maybe both."

"Can't shoot a ghost," Castle answers tersely. At Espo's widening eyes, he confirms the guess. "Yeah, the ghost of Tuweitha. Or, as I could call him, dad."

"You're shittin' me," Espo gulps, jaw still hanging slack. "He's here? And he's your _dad?!_ "

"Well, he's my father," Castle qualifies, the distinction he's making apparent at least to himself. "So, yeah, watch out: if the Precinct ever has a father-son picnic, we'll be unstoppable. Hard to win a three-legged race when you've been knee-capped by a government-trained assassin."

Espo huffs a grim laugh and casts a quick eye at Beckett to see if she can hear the inappropriate conversation. Like Castle, he's concerned about her attentive look even though there's no way she could hear them. Is there?

"Okay," he says to get them moving again. "So where are we going?"

"We'll drop you here," Castle says while pointing at the map again. "From there, you've got three options we've scouted." Lifting the drawing, Castle reveals an overhead picture with three locations circled in red marker, each with a letter beside it. "Each offers a vantage over the main approach. This one," he says, pointing to one of the circles, "also affords a view of the water."

"Bit obvious," Espo replies, thinking about the layout. "If I was a bad guy, that's where I'd look for a sniper."

"That's why it's your call," Castle agrees before turning in place and reaching for a small bag. "Keys for A and B are inside, along with a bolt cutter for C. And a burner and headset, pictures of the 'good guys,'" he says with air quotes, still hesitant to embrace the redemption of Talbot's gang of would-be thieves, "and some documentation you can pull if the authorities come calling."

"A bolt cutter?" Espo asks incredulously. "Nice to work with proper professionals."

Castle shrugs, confident that Espo worked with far less while in Special Forces. Espo, meanwhile, flips between the tactical drawing and the overhead photos. Finally, he shrugs, packs up the folder and tucks it beneath his guitar case. While he turns to extracting his rifle and repacking, Castle shuffles over to Beckett's side where he crouches silently as the biting wind from the water reddens their cheeks.

Fifteen minutes later, they leave Espo at river's edge where he can scramble to whichever overlook he determines is most attractive. They've got a few hours before they expect to need him, so he's got time to get set. And, after thinking about it, they decided perhaps it was best if Beckett and Castle didn't know where he'd be. They can discuss that later over the headset if necessary, but they retain plausible deniability until then. None of them are sure if they're hiding Espo's presence from their opponents or Jackson's team.

* * *

"I suppose we shouldn't rig this to blow," Castle grudgingly admits as they tie off the raft between the two trawlers on the back-side of the meatpacking warehouse serving as they're redoubt and Bracken's prison.

"Assuming there's no assault from the water, it'd be nice to have a back-up escape plan," Beckett agrees. In all likelihood, someone will disable or sink the raft for exactly that reason, but their enemies are unlikely to commandeer the craft.

Castle nods while he takes off a glove and dials a number on a cell phone Beckett doesn't recognize.

"Yeah, it's us. Unlock the back door, will you? Baloney. You knew it was us or we would've been blown out of the water. Yeah, yeah, yeah. No, it was one if by land, two if by sea. Seriously? Shipton, you need some American history lessons. Yes, there is too such a thing," he huffs while letting Beckett see him roll his eyes at Shipton's apparent nonsense on the phone. "Bloody Brits, still can't accept that their empire barely covers their puny island these days," he grouses before disconnecting the call.

"No flirting with the help," Beckett reminds him as they bump shoulders and approach the river-side door to the facility, from which the sounds of disengaging locks are already audible.

"Just bleeding off some tension," he replies to her teasing.

"I'd tell you to leave the flirting to me, but then you'd engage in some male fantasy that'd have you distracted for the rest of the night."

"Too late," he grins, ignoring Shipton's raised brow as they enter building.

"So much for not participating in the siege," Shipton says as she closes the door and resets the locks. "Lynch wants to see you both."

Shipton's lack of humor likely means she got reamed while the partners were approaching the warehouse, so both Castle and Beckett gird for a chilly reception from Lynch. Unsurprisingly, he's tucked into a central office with surveillance screens and communications equipment arrayed around him. After escorting them into the room, Shipton leaves silently to return to her post.

Lynch ignores them while fiddling with some of the communications equipment. If this were Gates or anyone else at the precinct, Beckett would suspect they were being purposely slighted. But Lynch doesn't seem like the kind to engage in that type of behavior – he would've just left them out on the dock, or had the trawlers sink their raft on approach.

"You're late," Lynch breaks the silence, his eyes on the surveillance screens but his attention on them.

"Needed to make a stop," Castle shrugs.

At this, Lynch looks up fiercely, his intelligent eyes already spinning through the implications. "If your back-up shoots anyone on my team I'll drop you where you stand," he promises in a calm voice before returning his attention to the screens.

Castle nods, unaffected by the quiet threat. Beckett, meanwhile, again ruminates on the acceptance of lethal violence among this group. It makes her even more anxious to get herself and Castle away from them.

"You've got guard duty," Lynch continues, pointing to a screen that features an overhead feed of a bowed and bound Senator Bracken. "You're the last line of defense if they try to free him."

"You mean we're fodder," Castle replies. "They need him silenced, not retrieved. He's too much of a liability."

"Probably," Lynch agrees dispassionately. "But they might want to get a handle on how much he told us. But if do try to take him and you get pinned down, I expect you to kill him before they take you."

Again, Castle answers with a nod. Such a simple movement to acknowledge that they'll be in the line of fire and will murder a captive before they let him be rescued. What frightens Beckett the most is that she nodded, too.

* * *

"Don't I get a last meal?"

Those are the first words they've heard from Bracken since they joined him several hours ago. In all that time, he'd sat unmoving, appearing catatonic. Beckett, who'd wondered if she'd feel any better for engaging in another verbal showdown with the architect of her mother's demise, found herself appreciating the silence. Castle, too, had been quiet. It wasn't a companionable silence among the three, but it was certainly a contemplative one.

So, of course, Bracken had to ruin it.

To her surprise, Castle remains silent even as he rises. After rooting around in a duffel, he extracts a few granola bars. After tossing one to Beckett, he unwraps two others and drops them onto the table beside which Bracken sits. With each wrist and ankle bound to his wooden chair, the only option Bracken has is to lower his head and eat like a pig at a trough.

"Can you…"

"No," Castle answers immediately, unwilling to entertain the thought of freeing even one of Bracken's hands and annoyed at having to speak. But, seeing as the silence has been broken, he offers a short explanation. "Your sole value at this point is as live bait. This will all likely be over in the next twelve hours and I expect you'll make it that far without any food or water. That," he says while pointing at the sad little bars of sustenance, "is as charitable as I'm willing to be."

"I thought I was supposed to be the willing conspirator," Bracken replies, trying to sound tough. His efforts are distracted by his covetous glances at the granola bars. "If… others find me like this, they'll see through your little scheme."

"Nice try," Castle replies with a grim smile as he picks up one of the bars he'd left for the disgraced senator and pops it into his mouth. "At this point, the only reason they'd want you alive it to know exactly how much you told us. Whether at our hands or theirs," he pauses as he swallows his stolen bite, "you're a dead man."

It's a sign of exactly how far Bracken's fallen, how cowed he is by his circumstances, that this cold declaration doesn't change his demeanor. Instead, he turns his head to face Beckett, though his facial tick reveals his concern that Castle might take the rest of the food.

"And you? You're a cop. You're okay with this? Kidnapping, torture, murder?"

Recalled from her own thoughts, Beckett slowly focuses on the shackled man in front of her. He doesn't look like much of a monster, but her job has taught her that they usually don't. The worst, most deranged killers she's caught looked innocuous, sometimes even friendly. So the senator's appearance elicits little sympathy.

Instead, she thinks about how they got here. Murder, corruption, a raw torrent of sadistic, selfish violence stretching back decades and most recently culminating in Castle's torture and threats against his daughter. She's lost her mother, nearly lost her father, and nearly lost the man with whom she wants to spend the future.

"I'm not okay with this," Beckett starts. She's not trying to inflict more harm to Bracken, but she appreciates the brief glimmer of potential relief in his eyes because she knows her next words will crush his hope. "That's insufficient to describe how satisfied I am with this situation. Coonan is gone. Simmons is gone. And soon, you'll be gone, too."

"I suppose you think this is justice?" Bracken asks, his attention finally pulled away from the forlorn granola bar.

"Justice?" Beckett scoffs. "No, we needn't dissemble. This is vengeance," she admits with a shrug. "Mom will dispense justice. I'm just happy to send you on your way to meet her."

"And there's nothing I could do, nothing I could offer…," Bracken rallies, testing the waters. His effort trails off as Beckett rises from her seat and glides over to face him. Castle, who'd been lounging against the table, retreats several steps to cede this discussion to his partner.

Beckett's eyes bore into Bracken's as the seconds crawl by. Shortly, he begins to fidget. Several times he looks as if he's about to say something, only to swallow his words every time. When Beckett finally stoops to look at him from only inches away, he recoils from her icy stare and the low, sepulchral tone.

"There is only one thing you could do," she whispers as she towers over her demon. "Only one thing you could offer that might sway me. Only one chance at redemption."

"Money?" Bracken stutters, too wary to be optimistic. "I've got money. Money not even Zoltick knows about."

When Beckett looks unimpressed, Bracken panics and casts about for another offering.

"Names!" he whimpers. "I know people. Bad people. You could bring them in, protect people from them."

Castle, in the background, finds himself fascinated with this experiment. Bracken started his appeal with greed, which failed quickly. Interestingly, he jumped from there into an offer to enable Beckett to help people. It's an unusual move – he would've expected an offer of protection for Beckett's father and co-workers. At the very least, he thinks while acknowledging the macabre tenor of his thoughts, this conversation has proven to be more interesting than his tête-à-tête with Simmons.

Bracken, meanwhile, has noticed that his second offer still didn't hit the mark. Growing desperate, he gives up.

"Anything!" he promises. "Just tell me what you want."

"What I want?" Beckett replies to a vigorously nodding Bracken. "All I want is…," she trails off, letting Bracken dangle as he leans forward and stares beseechingly. "All I want is… a granola bar." With that, Beckett turns and returns to her chair.

Bracken looks absolutely dumbfounded. Her nonsensical answer leaves him locked in place as he tries to make sense of it. Then, suddenly, his mind lurches back into gear. "Here! You can have…," his heart breaks along with his voice as he looks at the empty table where his sustenance had rested just moments ago. But it's gone. Somehow, Castle or Beckett liberated the last bar without notice. And now he's left with nothing – nothing to offer, nothing to eat, and nothing to anchor any kind of hope.

* * *

A/N: So, it's been a while. But I'm back in action. We're close to the end of this one, probably just one more chapter (or two if I decided to split it as I did for tonight's posting).

Before I turn to posting the next chapter tonight, a few quick words of thanks. Aalon, bponder, P2PW, and Smitty provided encouragement to get my tail writing again. A twitter conversation between Wendy and Lou also reminded me about how much fun this can be. So, thanks!


	29. Chapter 29

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

"Sleep," Castle says in quiet command. "While you can."

"Too keyed up," Beckett replies from her seat beside him. Bracken passed out more than an hour ago. They'd say he's sleeping soundly, but it might be that he's just is a stupor with his eyes closed. "Besides, we've gone without sleep before."

"True," Castle replies as the runs his thumb over the back of her hand. "But is it really nerves, or is there some guilt there, too?"

"Over him?" she asks, with a nod toward Bracken. "Not really. I was pretty harsh, but I'm not gonna lose sleep over it. I think I gave up my rights to the wringing-my-hands-in-anguish thing back when I signed your dad's papers. Besides," she adds with a nudge to his shoulder, "that conversation is hardly the worst we've done."

"No need to remind me," Castle replies with a grim note of melancholy. "Still, you surprised me."

"Oh?"

"Hey now, don't sound worried. I wasn't disappointed or upset. I just thought you were going the _Princess Bride_ route. With your version of the six-fingered man over there," Castle explains with a nod to Bracken, "I thought you were going to tell him…"

"' _I want my mother back, you son of a bitch_ ,'" Beckett finishes the altered version of the line from the movie. "I thought about it," she trails off, not sure how to explain her decision to taunt Bracken. It's starting to worry her, how disconnected she feels from her actions. "What's wrong with us, Castle? I _want_ you to be upset with me, with how grim I am. But you're not. You're just as dark, maybe darker. What happens to us when this is done?"

Castle sighs as he runs a hand through his hair, buying time as he thinks about the question that's long vexed him. "Well, I'd like to say that we work hard to get back to normal – life in the precinct, catching regular, boring killers, and worrying about Alexis and mother…"

"But…"

"But maybe that's naïve," he admits with a sigh. "Maybe our struggles will help us appreciate what we have. Or maybe they'll make us jaded, disconnected, and prone to judicious violence," he offers with an affected shrug. "All I can say is that we need to finish this before we worry about what follows, and I'll trust in our resilience to take care of what happens afterwards."

"Trust in us," Beckett summarizes, nodding. "I like that. Maybe Burke could help us," she ponders, before huffing. "If he's still seeing patients, or me, after what's happened…"

Crackling static from Castle's communication device interrupts Beckett's ruminations. With a quick look at each other, the partners insert ear pieces while Castle grabs the device and types a code and activating the line.

" _Company's here_ ," Esposito's voice sounds across the line. " _They're getting' ready quick. Looks like standard four-by-four_."

Castle's about to press for details when a new voice on the line interrupts him.

" _Composition?_ " asks Lynch. When Espo pauses at the sound of an unexpected participant, the voice returns, annoyed. " _Sergeant, I took the comms at the bank heist, so you shouldn't be surprised I took this line, too. Now, I'm running intel on this action, so report!_ "

Hearing no objection from Beckett, Espo complies. " _Standard teams: one munitions/entry specialist on point, two with light arms, one heavy gunner. Looks like two teams are leading in a pincer action, the other two are holding at the fishpacking warehouse_."

" _Concur_ ," Lynch replies tersely, making it clear that his communication set-up has also spotted their opponents. " _Do not engage yet, Sergeant. Let the entry men do their job. But as soon as they blow the doors, you take out the heavy support_."

" _No, sir_ ," Espo replies, surprising everyone on the line. " _I'm back-up," he explains, apologetically. "I've got no clearance to engage_."

" _Sergeant, you signed the same forms Beckett did. You're clear_."

" _I did?_ "

" _You must have_ ," Lynch assures him, " _since I have forms with your signature_." Meanwhile, Beckett and Castle look at each other, wondering what the hell's going on, whether Espo will trust this offer of protection, and whether they should encourage him to leave or get on board.

" _Sir, yes, sir_ ," Espo barks before either Castle or Beckett can weigh in. Either Espo's response to military authority is deeply ingrained or he feels like rolling the dice. Whatever the reason, Beckett breathes a little easier knowing they've got friendly support.

" _After breach, you're weapons free. You see a hostile, I want him gone. And Sergeant?_ " Lynch adds, just as it sounded like he might be signing off. " _Keep an eye on our friends from the New Amsterdam. They look at anyone cross-eyed and I expect you to put them down, too. Out_."

Well, shit, thinks Beckett. As if there aren't enough moving pieces already, wondering about the allegiance of their colleagues is just one more thing that can go wrong. Anything else to worry about?

On cue, Bracken struggles to wakefulness.

"What's going on," the ex-senator asks, picking up on the tension in the room even as he shakes off the last holds of his fitful sleep.

"Your friends are here," Castle answers as he moves to a corner of the room while gesturing for Beckett to do the same. "They're about to knock on the door and ask you out to play."

Bracken looks confused, a mix of fear from his impending demise and doubt that Castle's being honest. But the concussive sounds of tailored explosive charges quickly erase the doubt.

Barely discernable in the oral confusion following the blasts are the short reports of a distant rifle. Before either partner can ask, Esposito chirps into their earpieces again.

" _Three down,_ " he reports tersely, " _both heavies and one light. Winged another light, but he's still a factor_ ," he says with a tone of disgust, obviously unhappy with his performance.

" _Disengage_ ," Lynch commands. " _Our teams will engage from the rear while we prevent them from penetrating far into the building. But keep your eye on things_."

Sounds of shouting and the pops from small-arms fire punctuate the ensuing silence. From what they can hear, it seems as if the plan is going well – the breach teams are pinned down between the guards within the building and Lynch's teams outside. Within their room, Castle and Beckett are in opposite corners, tensed and waiting, while Bracken is bound in the middle of the room and looking increasingly panicked.

"Beckett," Castle calls out, "we need to cover the door."

With a nod, Beckett moves to join her partner. Only as she passes him does Bracken realize they don't intend to take him with them.

"You're leaving me here?!" he calls out frantically. "You need me! I'm the bait!"

"The mouse is here," Castle shrugs as he moves to the door. "No more need for the cheese."

Bracken whimpers as the partners move to the door. Their progress is halted, however, by another squawking report from their earpiece.

" _Bracken's detail, disengage_ ," Lynch's voice states calmly. " _Fallback dockside immediately_."

Wondering about what's going on, their questions are answered by Esposito, who provides a more colorful sit-rep.

" _Shit, shit, shit_!" the sniper barks out from his location. " _The reserve team has RPGs and are ready to use them. Get down!_ "

Beckett and Castle dive for the ground as the building shakes under the pounding of the first projectile. Screeching metal, blood-curdling cries of the injured, and indignant (and colorful) interjections from combatants from both sides fill the air.

But, Jackson and Lynch picked their battleground well. The insulated walls of the various refrigeration chambers in the building provide nested layers of protection, an incidental armoring for which Castle and Beckett find themselves very thankful.

Another blast sounds, closer this time. As dislodged dust drifts down from the ceiling, the partners look at each other as they both picture the same scenario: layer after layer of their defenses being pierced. It's definitely time to go.

" _No fuckin' way_ ," they hear Espo growl into their earpieces, his course language and the background sounds of his rifle providing clear testament to how hairy things are getting outside. " _Chopper, inbound_. _I gotta move,_ " he says in a hurry. " _Castle, I'm moving to location B_."

Well, shit, Beckett thinks. A wide-eyed glance at Castle confirms that there was no discussion of an aerial attack. Paul Revere only had two lamps and a two-dimensional battleground. How in the hell do they deal with a chopper?!

Castle, wondering the same thing, looks upward and nearly slaps his head at the obvious move. Getting to Bracken requires penetrating about eight different walls, with several groups of defenders. But, from above, there's only one layer of defense, even assuming the ceiling is as well-insulated as the walls.

Despite these thoughts occurring in less than an adrenaline-stretched handful of seconds, they still weren't fast enough. The partners are still looking at each other when something detonates overhead. The ground and walls shake, their ears report only a constant, high-pitched squeal, sharp-edged rubble surrounds them, and smoky tendrils rise into falling dust to provide insight into what it must be like within one of Hell's sulpheric clouds.

Blinking furiously, Beckett's the first one to return to her senses. She's surround by jumbled masses of crumbled brick and twisted metal. The bite of projectile wounds and lacerations make themselves known as she struggles to her knees, but there are no reports of a more dire injury. Surveying the room, she sees Bracken tossed aside like a forgotten toy. But there's no sign of Castle.

Fighting to keep a panic attack at bay, Beckett crawls forward in search of her partner. After a few painful yards compound the injuries to her legs, she sees a booted foot protruding from a pile to her right.

 _I'll never tease him about his big feet again._

Scrabbling to his side, Beckett starts tossing aside the debris entombing her partner. Opting for speed more than care or finesse, she knows she's adding to the cuts on her hands and forearms, but she can worry about that later. She pauses just for a few seconds to enjoy the relief when she can see the rise and fall of his chest. But she returns quickly to her task, revealing more and more of her partner.

Finally, there's nothing directly on top of Castle, though he looks a little demented. Grimy and bleeding, he looks like he laid down to make a rubble angel on the floor before falling asleep. Crediting this thought to a probable concussion, Beckett reaches out and gingerly cups his cheek, anxious to awaken her partner.

His beautiful blue eyes blink several times as he surfaces into awareness. Almost immediately they lock on hers. With that connection reestablished, Beckett can feel her hand shift as Castle starts to grin at their good fortune at having survived yet another explosion.

But in a flash, Castle's face morphs into one of fierce resolve. Even as she's wondering about the reason for the change, his hand is on her shoulder, shoving her away with shocking force. She lands hard, again feeling the sting of more cuts. Turning her head back to her partner, she nearly vomits when she sees the twisted piece of a metal support beam stabbed into his shoulder, right below where her head had been seconds ago.

Recoiling from the image, she pulls back and notices the twisted piece of humanity responsible for this tableau. Sporting horrible injuries of his own, Bracken barely manages to stand as he draws in raspy, panting breaths. He's dirt-stained and bloody, with a large gash on his arm where he must've cut himself on whatever he used to free himself of his bonds. But it's the cut across his forehead, which has left half his face drenched in blood, that makes him look truly demonic.

"So, Bracken escapes again," he grins as he stumbles while turning and looking for another improvised weapon with which to attack Beckett. The detective, meanwhile, casts about quickly to locate Castle's gun or her own.

Her fruitless search is interrupted by a low groan from Castle, who struggles to reach out to her. But he's not surrendering. Despite his dire situation, there's a fire in his eyes, an intense alertness that connects with her immediately. Having her attention, he looks pointedly down towards his wrist.

"Goodbye, Detective," Bracken taunts as he sees a piece of rebar and lurches toward it. Had she been on her feet she might've reached the weapon first. But it's all she can do to bring her legs up and shift into a crouching position before Bracken turns, steel rod in hand.

"How cute," he sneers as he stumbles toward them, noticing Beckett holding her partner's hand. "There's no time for goodbyes, but don't worry – you'll be together soon." With a grim smile on his face, Bracken rears back to heave the rebar over his head, intending to bash Beckett on the downswing.

With his arms extended above his head, bracken's torso is drawn taught. Nonetheless, Beckett spins in place and rises as she punches the ex-Senator in the gut.

Bracken freezes in place for a moment, his already abused senses misfiring and sending confused messages through his nervous system. A single, simple punch shouldn't have done much of anything, especially not from her. But he feels like he's on fire and doesn't understand why.

Looking down, he can barely see the white hilt of a small knife protruding from his stomach. He might've missed it against the backdrop of his dirty white shirt, had the spreading dark stain not thrown it into relief.

Actions seem to lurch forward in time following Bracken's realization. Even as he watches, the knife is pulled out and reinserted, over and over again. He feels his hands release the rebar, but never hears it crash to the floor behind him. In fact, the only thing he can hear is the voice of his killer.

"… seven, eight, _nine_ ," Beckett gasps, finally extracting the knife and letting her hand fall to her side as she struggles to stay upright, fighting fatigue, her injuries from the explosion, and the wretched sense of wrongness that makes her want to vomit.

As Bracken collapses to his knees and then falls to his side, his nemesis utters the last words he'll ever hear: "Nine times your hired knife stabbed my mother. How did it feel?"

Bracken can't answer. He can't do anything – nothing seems to work or respond to any efforts on his part. Even his eyes resist his efforts to move them or blink. Before they go glassy and stop working altogether, Bracken finds himself staring at Castle's hand that Beckett had been holding. At least he can solve this one mystery before passing on, his foggy brain thinks.

And so Bracken dies with a slight upturn on his lips, his sightless eyes staring at the holster peeking out from Castle's unbuttoned cuff.

* * *

"Lynch?!" Beckett shouts into the communication device, praying it still works despite the abuse of the explosion. "Espo?! Is anyone there?!"

The static she gets in reply to her desperate plea nearly convinces Beckett to throw the device into the wall. In the minutes since Bracken's collapse she's become painfully aware of the precariousness of their position. Gunfire still erupts in static bursts, along with the muffled whumps of small explosives. Worse, the chopper landed, and she can only imagine the horrors it disgorged onto their makeshift battlefield. They've been left alone in their wrecked room of isolation, but somehow all of the sounds and wondering make it worse. Life is easier with a weapon in hand and a clear enemy in front of you.

Her patience in handling the device pays dividends as it finally bursts to life.

" _Beckett_?" calls the imperturbable voice of Lynch. " _Sit rep._ "

"Castle's down. Bracken's out," she answers succinctly. "We need medical and evac, now!"

" _Shipton's en route_ ," Lynch replies calmly, apparently unbothered by what befell either man in the room. " _She's a medic and she's now your CO. This op's about done – you listen to her. We're going to need to fall back and regroup later. She's your contact so don't piss her off_."

Even as she's about to object, both of them are pulled away from their conversation by the sounds of the chopper's engine spooling up again.

" _Shit_ ," Lynch curses into the open comm line, breaking his calm demeanor for the first time in Beckett's recollection. " _The target's making a run for it. Sergeant, drop that bird_!"

" _What_?" Beckett hears Esposito yelp. " _I've got a rifle, not an anti-aircraft battery_!"

" _So shoot the pilot. Or the turbine. Or the rotor. Just bring the damn thing down or we lose our shot_."

" _There's commotion inside, maybe friendlies_?" Esposito voices his last objection.

" _Doesn't matter. He knew the risks_ ," Lynch summarizes tersely. " _Bring. It. Down_."

Beckett's attention to the exchange between Lynch and Esposito evaporates immediately as she hears movement outside the door to their room. After Shipton calls out the code, Beckett helps her force the door open against the wreckage strewn about. Shipton drags a backboard behind her. While it seems kind of primitive, it's a good call in this setting as a regular stretcher or gurney would prove difficult to navigate through this mess.

Castle, who'd barely clung to consciousness, passes out after Shipton removes the makeshift spear lodged in his shoulder. The small fountain of blood that erupts afterward breaks through Beckett's last shred of control. By the time she's done heaving, Shipton's got a loose field dressing on the wound. With a contrite Beckett assisting, their field medic maneuvers Castle onto the backboard.

Finally, _finally_ , the distant sounds of sirens become discernable through the cacophony around them. Nice to know that a small, private dockside war featuring gunfire, air support, and explosions will eventually attract the interest of law enforcement. Beckett would fault the reaction time of her colleagues, except one – or maybe _both_ sides of this conflict – likely impaired an official response.

As they lift Castle's backboard and start toward the door, a new sound forces its way to the fore. Espo's rifle spits out a stream of short, concentrated staccato bursts. Not long after, the regular cycle of the choppers blades coughs and sputters. The engine screams to compensate for the impaired blades, but the sputtering irregularity of the sounds presages the end. With an anthropomorphic scream, the chopper drops out of the range of audibility.

Just as Beckett and Shipton look at each other in wonder, the sounds of a small explosion reaches them.

" _Bird is down_ ," Lynch confirms through the earpiece Beckett forgot she was wearing. " _Team Three, get the boat out to where it went down to check for survivors. Four minutes, then you leave. No exceptions. Shipton, get your ass moving_."

* * *

Beckett's barely conscious or aware of the frantic minutes that follow. Struggling with her own injuries and his weight, she stumbled several times while getting Castle through the complex and to a waiting vehicle. Rather than an unlabeled van, they're in the delivery truck for a restaurant supply company. Shipton had them screaming through the side streets near the warehouse even as the law enforcement vehicles finally began to secure the perimeter. Idly, in that way a brain works only after too much abuse, she wonders if Peterson or Monfriez have been called in. Had they seen her at the scene, they probably would've turned around and driven away.

The chatter in her earpiece delivered disjointed news of the operation as Beckett made her escape with Shipton and Castle. She drifted in and out of consciousness, so she's not certain which reports were real, which were dreams, and which are some weird, distorted combination of both. She's pretty sure she heard Espo make his escape, catching a ride with the departing raft so he wouldn't be seen by any law enforcement who might recognize him. She has a vague recollection that two members of the New Amsterdam crew died, along with several others supporting Lynch's efforts. As for enemy combatants, there is no count. With the warehouse now a raging inferno, authorities will need to wait for fire containment before the bodies can be counted and retrieved. Including Bracken's.

As for the two kings in this chess match, both are missing. Lynch is certain the target – the "head of the snake," in Castle's words – was aboard the chopper. The leading theory is that Jackson jumped aboard and both went down when Espo succeeded in disabling the helicopter, leading to its watery demise.

The sudden opening of the back door to the delivery truck rouses Beckett again. Before she can bring herself to full wakefulness, Castle's been removed by two orderlies who drop his backboard on top of a gurney and have him moving towards the ER. Shipton helps Beckett out of the truck, but holds her back from following her partner.

"We've got a different stop," Shipton explains. Sensing Beckett's objection, she interjects while steering the detective around to the cab of the truck. "We know some friendly doctors here," she explains as she opens the passenger door. "Castle needs some serious medical attention but we don't want him connected to anyone who can be tied back the warehouse."

Beckett's exhausted brain processes this explanation while Shipton walks around the truck and pulls herself up into the driver's seat.

"Where are we going?" Beckett finally manages.

"We've got a facility with doctors, equipment, and no one nosing around. You might not've been speared with a bloody big piece of metal, but you're still not in great shape, Detective. We'll get you patched up and back to your partner soon.

* * *

Shipton lied. Oh, the promises of competent and private medical care were true, as was the need for sleep. But after waking, getting checked out by another round of doctors, and finally released from care, she found herself whisked to another safehouse for a debriefing rather than her partner's hospital bedside. Her face clearly reflected her lack of amusement at this situation after it becomes clear that Castle's not joining them.

"Stand down, Detective," Lynch orders gently as he enters the small room where Shipton and Beckett had awaited his arrival. Talbot trails after him, looking like hell. With a band of gauze wound around his head and a bandage covering a ribbon of stiches on his left cheek, Talbot looks forlorn as he hobbles to the table and seats himself without any acknowledgement of the others. For someone who's usually boisterous, he or his team must've suffered in yesterday's assault.

"Right, let's keep this brief – we've got things to do," Lynch starts the briefing after sitting down and setting a stack of file folders on the table in front of him. "Shipton, prepare to move out. Following the wrap-up of this matter, we're moving to the Covena job in LA. Be ready to move the day after tomorrow. Full redeployment. The East Coast is going to be a little hot for a while."

Shipton nods, apparently unsurprised by the order to pull up stakes and drift west. Talbot, however, looks less than pleased as Lynch turns his attention toward him.

"As for you…," Lynch begins, letting the tension draw out. "You've got a decision to make. Three choices: LA, with us," he starts with a nod toward Shipton. "Leavenworth, for a stay not likely to be less than twenty years. Or, you join the members of your crew whose allegiance proved fickle yesterday."

That explains Talbot's haggard look, Beckett realizes. It sounds like at least two members of the New Amsterdam tried to switch sides yesterday, with fatal results. Poor Espo – she'll need to find him to see if he's the one who had to deal with them.

"What's the point?" Talbot growls in response. "Our deal was with the ghost and he's dead. We didn't sign on to be errand boys to the second fiddle."

Lynch absorbs this insult with his usual placidity before swiveling his head to share his reply with everyone at the table. "Jackson was on the chopper when it went down because our target was still alive and on board. He'll finish the mission, if he hasn't already. Then we'll rendezvous in LA."

 _Damn it_ , Beckett thinks, not sure how to process this news. Castle's injured, his dad is missing, and the architect of the plot against Castle's family may still be alive. How can this all end if they don't have firm resolution?

Turning to Talbot while she processes her own thoughts, Beckett sees that he looks even angrier now. "You can't know that," the man raves. "You sound like some damn TV preacher talking about having faith just before asking for money."

"Regardless of your characterization, I don't proselytize," Lynch replies evenly. "It's entirely up to you whether you bet your life against someone who's survived much more dire situations than this. So, I understand the first option is out. We'll be stopping in Kansas, then, either to drop you at the correctional facility or to bury you. Which do you prefer?"

Talbot suddenly looks much less sure of himself. Maybe he's not so willing to turn his back on the ghost, or maybe he doesn't like his odds of taking on the people in this room to win his escape. Beckett's seen the look in his eyes before, from suspects who suddenly find themselves cornered and are thinking madly of a way to escape.

"Three months," Talbot temporizes. "We'll do LA for three months. If the ghost hasn't surfaced by then, we need to talk."

"Then a conversation will be unnecessary," Lynch replies, again showing his complete confidence in Jackson.

"Detective, here's your story," he says as he slides a folder to her, moving on from Talbot's concerns. "There are city, state, and federal officials at the site of our engagement. I've got a meeting with them in an hour. The information in your file corresponds with the facts I'll dispense during that meeting. Your file will confirm your participation, explain your role as local law enforcement, and provide your Captain with sufficient credit to ensure you and the sergeant can return to your precinct with heads held high."

 _What_? Beckett thinks. She didn't participate in any of this for _kudos_. She did it to protect Castle and avenge her mother. And what about…

"Your Captain expects you and the sergeant at noon. I suggest you connect with him to coordinate before then."

"What about Castle?" Beckett finally interjects, pushing the file away from her to show where her priority lies.

"About Mr. Castle…," Lynch says by way of segue. While he stalls, Beckett can't help but notice a flinch from Shipton. It doesn't raise her hopes about what's going on.

"I'm hoping," Lynch continues, "that you can help us locate Mr. Castle after settling things at your precinct."

"You _lost_ him?!"

"We knew he needed to be relocated before the shift change at the hospital. It was risky enough to have someone so recognizable in a hospital, even in a closed ward. There's just too many people in and out, and all it takes is one person. Like, say, a visiting cardiologist…," Lynch trails off while giving Beckett a pointed look, then shooting a quick glimpse out of the corner of his eye at the others in the room to emphasize the need for discretion.

A visiting cardiologist? Oh, shit, Beckett realizes. Yeah, Josh would certainly have recognized Castle, and he probably wouldn't have been quiet about it. Not based on what she's heard about their last meeting in a hospital.

"Castle apparently shared our views about the need for a prompt exit," Lynch continues after he sees that Beckett's understood his reference. "He checked out against medical advice shortly before we arrived to extract him. We have ideas about where he went," this comment again occasions a quick look at others to make sure Beckett doesn't speculate aloud, "but have been unable to confirm."

"He was healthy enough to leave on his own?" Beckett asks, picturing her partner stumbling out into the alley with no help. It's painfully reminiscent of what must've happened after he was taken while she was away. Actually, that's probably where he went – they never found where Castle received his medical treatment for his scarred back, so he's probably retreated to the same place to heal again. But why did he go alone?

"Presumably," Lynch replies, before his lip twitches in what might be the leading edge of a grin or a flinch. "Our effort to limit the information on his stay backfired – there's no information logged in the hospital's computer system, and he replaced the physical copy of his chart with someone else's. Unless, of course, he's really a 63 year-old widow from Queens currently undergoing hormone replacement therapy."

Long practice helps Beckett prevent a reaction, but she hears a huff from Shipton and notices a smirk from Talbot. Good to know Castle hasn't lost his humor after the stress of the last several months.

"Why did he leave?" Beckett asks, unable to contain her curiosity. "The way you describe it, he got out just before you arrived. And I'm well versed in Castle's behavior – it would've been easier for him to leave without a trace. But he left a bogus file instead, which either means he's joking with you or he's ticked off and wants you to know it."

"You mean you haven't figured it out yet?" Lynch replies, annoying Beckett with his superior look. His head swivels to Talbot and then Lynch, but neither of them seems to know what Lynch is talking about.

With a sad shake of his head, Lynch takes a breath before beginning his explanation. "I suspect Mr. Castle is fairly annoyed about what he sees as a breach of trust. Although he, just like everyone in this room, should understand the need for operational security. Let's just say that nothing that happened yesterday was unexpected."

"You son of a bitch," Beckett growls just before a look of comprehension blooms on Shipton's face. "You expected the chopper. The lateral attack was too well-defended. So it was all just a diversion."

"Yes," Lynch confirms as Talbot looks on, impressed. "And our adversary approached just as we'd hoped – easily marked, isolated, and relatively contained. Jackson was in place to intercept."

It actually makes sense, which annoys Beckett. And if it ends up being effective, she might even agree to forget about it. Maybe Castle will, too. Eventually. "And so Castle doesn't trust you. He ran rather than accept your help, and now we don't know where he is."

"We might have one lead on him, from something that was included with his medical chart," Lynch continues, shifting the folders in front of him to reach the one on the bottom. "I hope you appreciate my restraint, but I'd appreciate it if you let me know if there's any relevant information in here."

Even before he opens the folder, Beckett knows what she's going to see. But Shipton and Talbot both look on in confusion as Lynch slowly extracts a dove gray envelope and slides it across the table into her waiting hands.


	30. Chapter 30

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

"Why did you bother to reseal the envelope?" Beckett asks as she taps the dove gray envelope in her hand, drawing out the moment. After all, she's certain Lynch has already read what's enclosed and was unable to wring any useful information from whatever is written within.

"Good manners," Lynch replies without even a smirk. All here know what's going on, so there's no reason to pretend or dissemble.

"Well, it's probably personal. You know how writers are," Beckett replies with an airy wave. "Perhaps I'll hold onto this until I can read it from the comfort of my own home."

Lynch finally reacts, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. "Fine. Detective Beckett, you have my most sincere apologies for interfering with your communications and impinging upon your privacy. Even though the paperwork _you_ signed explicitly allows me to do both of those things. Now, will you please review that communication and tell us what it means?"

A gracious 'winner' (after all, she's a little disturbed by what else might be in that paperwork she signed without the opportunity for review), Beckett nods before turning the envelope in her hand and using a fingernail to tear the edge. With a careful hand she withdraws and smooths the note.

 _Beckett,_

 _My apologies for my quick departure from the hospital. Let's face it: you and I don't have good luck with hospitals, so I'm hoping that getting out of here helped us avoid any bothersome circumstances. Or people._

 _I'm sorry, too, for leaving before giving you a call. I fear there are things I need to do, people with whom I need to meet before I can rest in the hope that our adventures (at least those related to this particular tormentor) are behind us._

 _But, cheer up! At least this time I left a note before haring off on my own. That warrants a reward for good conduct, right? I'll confess that you've inspired me to behave (at least a little), since I'm hoping we can get back to normal at the precinct. Let's get back to our usual Beckett-flavored cases, like mixing homicide with America's pastime or having words with a mummy about a curse (which was completely real, by the way). I'm even looking forward to seeing Ryan and Espo again. I'd prefer to have colleagues who enjoy a good bet or good humor rather than those who set us up to have bombs dropped on our heads. Hell, with that thought, even Victoria's old demeanor would be an improvement!_

 _It shouldn't take me more than two or three weeks to wrap things up, but I'll find a way to contact you before then. I promise to be careful and to not push my limits as long as you promise the same. Okay, fine, it was worth a shot. I've tugged my ear and tweaked my nose in anticipation of your response to my impertinence. If I can't barter, though, I'll just beg: please be careful._

 _Castle_

Having read the letter through once, Beckett scans it again to give herself time. Her partner really is a clever boy, she marvels as she works to keep her face obviously blank. She knows what Lynch is thinking and she knows he's awaiting a denial from her. So, time to emulate Martha and give one more short bit of performance.

"Jackass," she mutters in mock annoyance upon finishing the letter. Looking into Lynch's inquisitive stare, she explains. "He's just trying to soften his landing, make things easier for him to return after ditching me and disappearing yet again. But there'll still be hell to pay when he gets back."

Lynch tilts his head slightly as he considers her words. She's impressed by his acting skills, too, as she wonders if he's going to call her on her 'lie' or not.

"So, no clues as to his destination?" Lynch asks.

"None that come to mind," Beckett replies with a little irritation that's not entirely forced. "Lucky for him."

"And the sign beneath his signature?"

Beckett lifts the letter again, lets a finger trace the symbol that Castle included. Again, clever, since Lynch must know what it is and would take not of its absence.

"It's Castle's way of telling me he wasn't under duress while penning this letter," she answers to Lynch's slow nod. "As if the personality behind the words left any doubt."

Lynch gives her another long, silent look before nodding. "Very well," he appears to concede. "Then we'll have to hope he can take care of himself until such time as he reaches out. For now, we both have places to be. Shipton, Talbot, let's move out. Detective, you don't want to keep your Captain waiting."

Then, surprisingly, the group disbands and Beckett finds herself pointed down a hallway and left to walk on her own. Following the directions leads her to a door that leads to an underground garage, where someone has arranged to have her cruiser ready and waiting, key already in the ignition. Compared to the cloak and dagger routines in which she's been swept up since returning from her father's cabin, the abrupt return to normality is more than a little uncomfortable.

So, she only feels a bit uncomfortable as she lays down on the floor of the parking garage and shimmies far enough beneath her cruiser to ensure there's no obvious tracker or explosive device. Rising again and taking note of the black hemispheres in the ceiling that shelter security cameras, she shrugs and checks beneath the hood and in the trunk of the cruiser before finally sliding into the driver's seat. A short prayer precedes the turning of the ignition key, which starts the engine and not any car bombs.

Idling, Beckett thinks about what to do next. After all, she's got three options.

Option 1: Head towards one of the false locations Castle provided in his letter. Her little show of checking her car for explosives has given Lynch time to send people in these directions. If he's genuinely interested in finding Castle. Anyone with Lynch's access to resources would be able to correlate Castle's references to the significant locations involved in those cases. So, her partner provided two false locations in his short letter: Cano Vega Field (from the reference to _America's pastime)_ and the New York History Museum (where he'd encountered his ' _curse_ ').

Option 2: Head to the precinct for the meeting with Gates that Lynch set up. Perhaps Lynch's efforts in establishing that meeting were related to closing the case and freeing his team to move out. Or, perhaps they were actually meant as an assist to herself and Espo. Or, perhaps the meeting was a way to make sure that Beckett was in a known location and immobile for a certain period of time.

Option 3: Head towards where she knows she'll find Castle.

As much as she wants to pick the third option, she knows she can't – it would be wildly naïve to think that someone with Lynch's resources wouldn't have a way to track her, people to follow her, or both. _So_ , she thinks as she lets a wicked smile spread across her cheeks as she shifts the car into Drive, _Option 2 it is, but why not let them think I've picked Option 3 and see what happens?_

What follows is, for Beckett at least, a haphazard, harried, but ultimately fun diversion. Sometimes, she drives like a maniac, blatantly abusing her lights and sirens to weave through traffic, cut through intersections, ignore one-way directions, and even avail herself of a bike or walking path. Sometimes, she cuts the lights and sirens while creeping down alleys and through parking garages. That's before she ditches her car altogether in a parking structure near Times Square.

Now on foot, Beckett weaves in and out of pedestrians and stores. Again abusing her position, a flash of the badge lets her cut through businesses to access the kitchen or stock-room doors that admit to dirty back alleys. Weaving her way south from Times Square, she ducks into the Modell's sporting goods store next to Madison Square Gardens and purchases the first set of clothes she can grab. Laughing at how garish she'll look in a Knicks sweatshirt and Islander sweatpants, she tosses a Mets hat into her purchases as well while thinking back to how ridiculous her therapist looked while wearing a ball cap.

Purchases secured in a plastic bag, she darts out of Modell's only to take the escalator 50 yards further down the block. For under the Garden sits Penn Station, with its many Amtrak and commuter trains and many, many more commuters. Letting herself get swept into the tide, she emerges on 31st Street, again laughing while thinking of someone trying to tail her through that swarm of humanity.

From there, she ducks onto the subway, slipping through the morning commute traffic and jumping on and off trains while slowly zeroing in on her final destination. Tired but invigorated, she finally emerges at her usual subway stop before making her way to the precinct. Hoping that someone either managed to follow her through the full routine or was stationed to watch the precinct, Beckett walks proudly up to the precinct door. Happy with her performance, she turns and performs a sweeping bow for to any nearby watchers.

 _Martha would be proud_ , she thinks as she enters the precinct, ignoring the confused looks of the uniformed officers nearby.

* * *

"Captain Gates?" Esposito calls out from the doorway to her office.

"Come," Gates replies without looking up, still focused on the paperwork she's been reviewing in anticipation of this meeting.

"Actually," Espo replies hesitantly, "Beckett sent me to ask if we could hold the meeting in a conference room? She's kind of set up in there and it'll be tough to get it all back together."

Gates lifts her head and her eyebrow as she assesses the detective. He looks a little embarrassed, probably about his role as messenger, but he's standing at the ready with eyes taking in everything and body poised to move. It seems his assistance with the Feds who'd lured Beckett away has awakened some of his dormant military training.

Sweeping her files together, Gates grasps the folder and stands. Motioning the detective forward, she follows silently to let her thoughts run.

Those thoughts crash to a halt as she enters the conference room and sees what Beckett's managed to spread across the table. Rather than files, paperwork, photos, or news clippings, the conference table sports the disassembled pieces of Beckett's firearm. And rather than focus on its reassembly, Beckett seems focused on doing the same to the wallet that contains her detective credentials. Poking at the wallet with an Exacto knife, she doesn't look away from her task as Gates and Esposito take seats at the table.

"Problem?" Gates asks after watching Beckett for several long moments.

Having already opted for blunt honesty, Beckett replies while teasing the seam of her wallet with the knife's slim blade.

"Castle slipped the Feds' leash and they're trying to use me to track him down," she replies as she spies something that catches her attention. "I know where he is – he left a message for us that the Feds couldn't figure out – but I want to make sure I don't lead them to him."

"Why not? I thought you were all on the same side," Gates replies, her suspicions of Beckett's paranoia replaced by confusion. "According to the file I was provided, the Feds have nothing but praise for how things went. They even reached out to the brass and the mayor about commendations!"

"They're very happy with the resolution of the op," Beckett replies as she frays the seam of the wallet. "But they're happier with the gray area than we are. You'll note, obviously, that we have no one in custody and no pending trials. What you probably don't see in the paperwork they provided is that the ringleader, the one Bracken answered to, went down in his chopper. The Feds assume he's dead, but we've no confirmation."

That bit of news startles Gates and prompts her to fully abandon the agenda she'd thought up for this meeting. "Why?" she asks, befuddled. "That seems damn sloppy and doesn't explain their glowing reviews."

"One of theirs was on the chopper," Beckett replies, grinning as the wallet's seam finally gives way. Dropping the knife, she uses both hands to pull the wallet apart, providing short ripping sounds as the two leather pieces separate. "And they're convinced he doesn't fail."

"Because he doesn't," Espo notes with finality, entering the conversation for the first time.

Gates shifts her attention to Esposito, who quails not a sliver under the inspection. Beckett's chuff of satisfaction recalls her attention. Looking back at her lead detective, Gates is shocked to see what looks like a metallic ribbon being pulled from the separated wallet by the edge of the knife.

"Gotcha!" Beckett chuckles while laying the ribbon on the tabletop. "How much fun do you think Tory could have with this?"

"While I'm sure she'd find it fascinating," Gates replies, "I'd prefer we not endanger the lives or freedoms of the technical staff. Evidence, perhaps, or maybe we tuck it away in a safe place for later use?"

Beckett shrugs and nods, smile still in place. Truth be told, she feels a little vindicated after her theatrics this morning. She imagines it's similar to what Castle would feel if one of their cases actually did involve a yeti or a CIA conspiracy. Actually, now that she thinks about it, she's going to have to stop giving him trouble about the plausibility of government conspiracies…

"So," Gates prompts, turning back to their interrupted discussion, "the Feds had someone in the chopper, it went down, and they're confident the ringleader perished and their agent survived. I still don't understand how Rick is involved."

Finally dropping the wallet and lifting her head to focus on the conversation, Beckett casts a quick look at Esposito, who shrugs in reply. With him ceding the conversation to her, Beckett thinks for a few moments about how to reply.

"I don't think they want to harm Castle, not directly," she begins, still trying to arrange the words in her mind. "He was seriously injured and has more recovery time ahead of him. But…"

"More?" Gates interrupts.

 _Damn it_ , Beckett realizes as she chastises herself. So much for a careful reply. She must be more exhausted than she realized to make a verbal slip like that. And while she doesn't know her well, Beckett knows her boss well enough to know that she won't let this subject drop.

"Remember the conversation we had when my team stepped away from the Cambridge case?" Beckett asks to restart the conversation, recalling the investigation that had put the city's mayor (and Castle's friend) in the spotlight.

"Yes," Gates nods. "You said something about other people being targeted, that another victim had reached out to you. You said…," Gates trails off, eyes alight as her mind races. "It was Mr. Castle, wasn't it? They did something to him, too. _That's_ why he's involved."

"This summer," Beckett replies with a sigh, "while I was away recuperating and Castle was out of the precinct, they took him. They held him for five days. He was tortured until they were convinced he was pliable. He was supposed to be the inside man or they'd go after his daughter."

"Dealing with a family issue," Gates says quietly, containing the horror of the situation through years of experience.

Nodding, Beckett continues. "Once he was released, Castle surprised them by hiding his family away and going on the offensive. That's how he came to the attention of the Feds."

Gates remains silent for several long moments, allowing Beckett the opportunity to finish her inspection of her wallet and badge.

"The machine shop where we found your shooter?" Gates asks, connecting the dots faster than Beckett would like and startling her in the process. Espo, too, looks both shocked and, grudgingly, impressed.

Worrying that they're approaching topics for which immunity from prosecution might be questionable, Beckett doesn't reply. But her silence confirms Gates' guess.

With a hand rubbing her forehead, Gates tries to integrate these disturbing revelations with what she knows about the Bracken case. After a few long moments, she again returns to the previous conversation.

"What is it about Rick that has them so interested?" she asks. "I've been forced to admit that for an untrained civilian, he appears to've contributed to your cases. But that doesn't seem like enough to warrant the kind of attention you're talking about."

Beckett sighs, thinking again about how much information to disclose. Thinking about how close Castle seemed to get to Gates when he resigned from the precinct, she decides to trust the captain with one more piece of information.

"The man that went down in the chopper was the Feds' leader. The man you met is his… chief of staff, I guess you could say, or maybe his tactical director. But the team leader is someone, _something_ else. He's got a fearsome reputation in the military for effectiveness in the most dire and trying circumstances." Beckett's frustrated at her stumbling explanation, but notes that Espo's resolute nod at her description seems to convey more information to their captain.

"If he survived, the leader will want to know where Castle is. He was impressed by Castle's performance, even relative to specialists with military training on the team," Beckett continues the explanation, deciding not to share the information that some of those 'specialists' should be sitting in jail for a recent attempted bank robbery.

"He seems to be interested in training Castle," Beckett finally draws to the conclusion with a deep breath. "To take over the family business."

Gates sits at the table, stunned for several long moments. "His father?" she finally emits.

Beckett nods, sadly. "Unknown to him until this summer."

"He _really_ wasn't kidding when he said he had family business to tend," Gates replies, missing the look shared by her detectives at her comment. Then, with her eyes coming back into focus, she zeroes in on Beckett. "You don't sound happy about this. And you must not be, if you're looking to protect Castle from his father's team."

"I don't know what'll happen," Beckett admits, "and I'm _way_ out of my league. I can't shelter him, or hide him, forever. But I'm hoping we can at least stay off their radar until he's healed. And maybe until he can bring his daughter and mother back out of hiding. My father, too, come to think of it."

"And Detective Ryan, I assume?" Gates adds, eyebrow raised again. "Somehow I'm finding it increasingly unlikely that his fiancé's grandmother really had a stroke to justify his current 'medical leave.' Not that I have the time or interest in looking into it."

"I'm sure she's probably recovered by now," Esposito offers in a quiet voice, prompting rolled eyes from the boss.

"Alright, here's what we're going to do," Gates offers, finally taking charge. "Detectives, based on the report from the Feds, you're both owed several days off. You might consider using those days to help your partners recover from their recent medical events or encounters. Detective Beckett, I want you to recall the conversation we had while Senator Bracken was our guest in Holding. This precinct, this department, has invested far too much in Rick to let someone else swoop in and profit from our efforts. Please convey to him our interest in his return following his convalescence."

"Yes, sir," Beckett answers with a smile.

"Anything else?" she asks, surveying both detectives. "Then I'll take that," she says, pointing to the ribbon Beckett removed from her wallet, "and you should both head out."

"Will do, sir," Beckett replies while Esposito nods. Then, pointing to her Modell's bag in the corner before letting her hands drift back to her disassembled firearm, "Just as soon as I put the pieces back together and make a quick change down in the gym."

"Wise," Gates admits. "Let me know if you want any help moving to your next location."

* * *

With some borrowed props, Beckett makes her surreptitious escape from the precinct by walking out the front door.

She'd taken Gates up on her offer of assistance, which they decided was easiest to accomplish with the help of the ribbon Beckett had found. With one simple call, Gates asked the motor pool for a vehicle with tinted windows, which she then assigned to the pair of uniforms responsible for prisoner transfer. When those officers departed, they had a ribbon in the car along with the prisoner, leading any watchers on a merry chase to the penitentiary. Even better, the drop-off at the penitentiary is in a closed garage for security purposes. The ribbon will makes its way from there to the warden's office. If any watchers happen to think Beckett or Castle are inside, they'll have the unenviable and somewhat unusual task of trying to break _into_ prison.

And, just for kicks, the warden has instructions to mail the package containing the ribbon back to the 12th precinct by US Post, care of 1PP. So, any watchers will also get to follow the meandering path of inter-departmental mail transit. That takes care of the ribbon for the next week or two.

Beckett, meanwhile, donned her new sporting wear and some borrowed sneakers before going to the class she'd avoided assiduously. Preferring her own gym after the debacle with Demming during Castle's second year, she's avoided the yoga classes the precinct began to offer as part of the NYPD's invigorated wellness initiative. Timing her arrival for the end of class, she melded with the crowd (who were quick to give her trouble about her non-attendance) and moved with the pack to a local bar. Once inside, she slipped out the back and traveled several blocks before pounding on a door in an alley. Flashing her badge when the door was hesitantly opened, she slipped through the hotel's kitchen and out the front, queuing with guests to catch a taxi.

Now safely nestled in the relative anonymity of the ubiquitous yellow cab, Beckett provides her destination and looks forward to reconnecting with Castle. She chuckles to herself as she thinks about the most recent letter Castle left for her and wonders if Lynch's team are keeping an eye on the false locations. To be fair, Lynch probably suspected they were red herrings, but in the absence of any alternatives, what could he do?

Realistically, Castle didn't really have the time to set up any elaborate destinations before he made his escape. He was hospitalized, injured, and likely still had his head and ears ringing from the explosions that preceded Bracken's demise. And he barely made it out of the hospital ahead of Lynch's retrieval team. Under those conditions, there's really only one place she'd expect him to go.

But, of course, he provided clues within his letter that Lynch wouldn't recognize. In fact, the clues wouldn't trigger a text search of the words used in the missive, which she expects Lynch would've run by now, if not immediately. And, on the very rare case the clues were recognized, Lynch wouldn't know what to do with them. No, instead Castle changed things just enough for her alone to recognize. And, like his false trails, there were two clues for her:

First, " _That warrants a reward for good conduct, right?_ "It's not surprising that Castle would wheedle for a reward. But she recognizes the reference here. What many people don't know is that A.C. Doyle wrote much more than detective fiction; in fact, he was reportedly ambivalent about Sherlock Holmes, Doyle's creation for which so many know his name. One of Doyle's other projects was a stage production with J.M. Barrie, creator of Peter Pan. And the title of that work? "The Good Conduct Prize."

So, Castle pointed her at Doyle. But, just in case that wasn't obvious enough, there was the second clue, the one that likely sent Lynch in the wrong direction: " _Let's get back to our usual Beckett-flavored cases, like mixing homicide with America's pastime or having words with a mummy about a curse (which was completely real, by the way)._ " With Doyle already accounted for, the reference Poe's satirical "Some Words with a Mummy" is obvious.

So, here she is again, though this time she's much less self-conscious. Paying the fare with cash borrowed from Gates, Beckett exits the cab and strides into the hotel and heads directly toward the manager's station. Unfortunately, her friend Devin isn't on duty, so this must be his colleague Neville. Unlike Devin, the current manager is less smooth and proves unable to stop his eyebrows from wiggling slightly after Beckett requests a room for the Moriarty-Pym wedding.

"Popular event," Neville offers as he arranges for a key card. Writing the room number on the paper sleeve into which he slid the card, Neville doesn't even walk her to the elevator, instead sending her on her way with a nod and a wink.

She doubts she and Castle would've had their first night here had Neville been on duty at the time. Another homicide to address, perhaps, but not a night together upstairs.

Lost in her grumbling, Beckett's still wary enough to exit the elevator four floors away, using the fire stairs to finish the journey. Finally, she's ready to see her partner again. She chastises herself after she realized she was squaring her shoulders. This isn't a case – she's not about to confront a suspect or a recalcitrant witness. Chuffing at her own nonsense, Beckett takes a deep breath, relaxes her posture, and even takes a moment to adjust her hair. She even makes an effort to rap lightly on the door rather than using her usual firm knock.

Her efforts seem worthless as the door slowly opens only to reveal a beautiful Asian woman. But before either of them can utter a word, they both hear a voice from deeper in the room say "And don't even _think_ about getting out of that bed!"

* * *

A/N: It's the story that won't end! I really wanted chapter 30 to be the end of this tale, but there's a bit left yet. Just one chapter. Where have you heard that before?

I was going to just push through to completion but got one of those dreaded calls at work, the one that goes 'So, ah, we might have a new project. You'll need to run a large team. And, ah, no sleep. But it'll only last a week!' I'll find out later today if the project is going ahead. So, I've posted this in case I get called into yet another disaster project. As attested by my writing frequency, there have been a lot of those in the last year.

Finally, a quick note of thanks. Work took me to Garrae's town, where I was treated to an excellent dinner of the cuisine featured in her story _What's In A Name?_ If you haven't read this story, what are you doing wasting time on this note? Go look it up!


	31. Chapter 31

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

"Uh," Beckett fumbles, checking the key card to make sure she's at the right room. "I'm looking for the Moriarty-Pym wedding party?"

With a nod, the woman steps back and motions Beckett forward. Entering a room identical to the one they had on their previous visit, Beckett's eyes are drawn to Castle. He's lying atop the covers of the bed, shirtless, with a blond woman standing directly beside him.

"You're late for the wedding, Beckett," Castle tries to tease before gasping in pain as the blond probes at his chest.

"Which one's Moriarty?" she asks with perched brow as the door to the room is closed behind her. Stepping forward, Beckett's able to see the bandages have been removed from where Castle was impaled. The wound looks horrible – angry and red, with tight stitches that follow a jagged line. Scabbing mars the area, along with what's either salve or pus.

"You've looked better, partner," Beckett admits as she draws near.

Of its own volition, Castle's hand reaches out to her, though he's careful not to turn lest he get another prod from the blond. "I've heard chicks dig scars. And I've always been an overachiever."

"You've got more than enough scars, Romeo," the blond huffs at his nonsense before turning to face Beckett. "I'm Stephanie Gallagher, an old friend of Rick's. And his back-alley doctor and seamstress. I'd shake your hand, but…," she trails off, looking down at her gloved hands.

"Nice to meet you," Beckett replies. "I'm Kate Beckett. I'm usually the one who keeps Castle out of trouble, though I'll confess that I didn't do such a good job yesterday."

"Do I need to take a look at you, too?"

"No, Castle took the hit for me while I ended the threat. I'm tired, but I don't need any stiches."

"Good to hear," Gallagher replies before turning back to her patient. "See, Rick? It's possible to exist without racking up life-threatening injuries."

"Boring," he replies, before wincing at the poke his comment deserved.

Movement in the periphery catches Beckett's attention. Turning to address the woman who admitted her to the room, she finally remembers her manners. Releasing Castle's hand to offer hers to the stranger, she introduces herself as "Kate Beckett, Castle's friend."

"Maggie Gallagher," the Asian woman replies warmly, nodding toward the blond to affirm their connection. "Steph's the Internist, while I do Pediatrics. You can guess which of us is the more appropriate physician for your friend."

The three women laugh, drawing a pout from the invalid on the bed. "Outnumbered again," he grumbles. Moving to cross his arms produces a flinch, though, so he puts them back on the bed and forgets to keep complaining.

"Poor baby," Beckett coos, turning to him and rubbing his hand before letting her attention wander up his arm.

"I think that's our cue to leave," Stephanie Gallagher offers, punctuating her statement with the snap that results from her pulling the surgical gloves from her hands. Then, while her partner packs up the medical bag, the doctor levels a fierce look at her patient.

"This will _not_ be like your recovery for your back. You'll lay in that bed for the next two days. The _only_ travel you're allowed is from here to the restroom. _No_ running around, _no_ heroics, and _absolutely no drinking._ Those'll wreak havoc with your meds and you're damn well taking the pain pills this time. _Understood?_ "

"Yes ma'am," a cowed Castle offers from the bed. The sight makes Beckett smile, which is a mistake.

"And _you_!" Stephanie growls, rounding on the detective. "You'll keep him safe and immobile or you'll have hell to pay. I don't appreciate people screwing with my friends or my handiwork. He's both," she claims fiercely, pointing at Castle. "You said you're the one who keeps him out of trouble? Well, _do your job_."

"Yes ma'am," a cowed Beckett replies.

Warnings delivered, Stephanie moves to the restroom to wash up. Maggie chuckles about the dressing-down and casts and admiring look at her partner.

Minutes later, Stephanie is back and Maggie's got them ready to leave. "Detective, it was a pleasure to finally meet you. Rick, I'll see you soon. Or earlier, if you call. Take care and _behave,_ " she finishes by waggling a finger at them both.

Maggie steps beside Stephanie and makes her own goodbyes before offering an elbow and escorting her partner out of the hotel room. The door has barely closed behind them before Beckett releases a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "She's a bit… volatile?"

"Always has been," Castle chuckles. "Tearing you up one minute and being sweet as light the next. Unless you're Alexis," he ponders, eyes going distant in recollection. "Maggie was Alexis' doctor when we arrived in New York. The Gallaghers have always had a soft spot for her, so she can get away with anything."

The reference to his daughter clearly shows where Castle's mind has wandered. His injuries, his exhaustion, and the drugs he's taking all collude to make him more obvious and open. Being careful not to abuse the situation, Beckett figures it's safe to ask some general questions. Besides, with his energy already flagging, it's clear that Castle isn't going to be up for a long conversation for a while.

"When will you get to see her?" Beckett asks gently, ready to soothe her partner at his extended separation from his family.

"I leave in a few days," he replies, shocking his partner. Before she can object, though, he offers a few details. "It's not easy to get to her without being noticed and my main ride leaves in three days. That's why Steph said she'd see me soon – I'll get a pre-flight checkup from her before leaving the country. It'll take another five days or so to get to Alexis, but that's fine. She's coming to the end of term and would never forgive me if I interrupted finals of her senior year."

Not sure how to process this change and whether she should prevail upon Castle to get more rest before departing, Beckett walks to the door and flips closed the security lock. Just to be cautious, she retrieves the angled doorstop from the restroom door and jams it beneath the door to their room, providing one more meager means of defense from intrusion. Only then does she pull off her boots and carefully crawl into bed next to her partner.

"You'll be safe?" she asks, getting a nod in return. "And you need to leave so soon?"

Castle turns his head and, despite the pain, squirms sideways enough to move his head close to Beckett's. "It's not easy to get to her and I can't turn down this chance." Then, tracing her ear with the tip of his nose, he whispers. "I don't want to lead anyone directly to Lucerne."

Lucerne! How in the hell did Castle find a place to hide his daughter away in Switzerland?! Staring at the ceiling, Beckett puzzles over this development and decides that it makes more sense than she initially thought. Alexis is in a region marked by a focus on economics and banking, so it's not unlikely there are schools that cater to the wealthy with a focus on both security and discretion. Her accent might give her away as an American, assuming she spoke English while at school. Then again, there are probably other Americans, and Alexis would probably enjoy the opportunity to learn French or German. Knowing the girl's drive, Beckett wouldn't be surprised to hear that Alexis had treated the whole think like a language immersion camp.

"It was that or Johannesburg," Castle whispers after clearly noting his partner's wandering mind. "Good options there, but it would've been harder to keep her attendance confidential. The other nice thing," he continues, a little hesitation creeping into his voice, "is that Marlowe Prep will treat her time away as an exchange program, if she wants to come back."

Wait, what?! _If_ she wants to come back?

"Hold up, Castle, what do you mean, ' _if she wants to come back_ '?"

"It's a good school," Castle offer, turning his head to join her in staring at the ceiling. "It gives her a lot of options. Plus, I don't know how she's handled her college applications. I've worked a deal with her old headmaster where her time away will be treated as time abroad, so she might've applied from Marlowe. But if she said she was a student of her new school, she might need or want to stay there until the end of the year."

Beckett knows that if that were the case, Castle would move to be near his daughter. She also knows that his reticence isn't really related to how Alexis chose to fill out her college applications.

"Come on, Rick," she cajoles lightly while carefully tucking into his side. "We're past the brave words and false front stage, aren't we? Why are you really worried about her coming back?"

"She wasn't very happy about leaving," he offers quietly after a few moments. "And I didn't ask for her opinion. She was pretty upset about being separated from mother, too. For all of her looking forward to college, she wasn't quite ready to be on her own."

"When did you last speak with her?"

"About a week ago," he replies with a sigh. "She's been a bit reserved on the phone. It _seems_ like things were getting better, but that could easily be an act. I won't know what she's really thinking or feeling until I show up. If then."

Beckett takes note of the slurring of Castle's words. Clearly, some of the medication dispensed by Stephanie Gallagher is starting to take hold, so he'll not be lucid for much longer. And, if his pain meds are anything like the ones she endured, he's likely up for strange, unsettling dreams once he drops off. Perhaps she could do something about that?

"I need to study," she mentions as she lets an arm carefully drift over Castle's chest, cuddling in and holding him in an embrace. "For the sergeant's exam. I could do it from anywhere. And no one would fault me if I took a leave of absence after what we've been through. So, if Alexis wants to stay in Lucerne, maybe we could rent a place nearby?"

* * *

Castle awakes slowly. It's dark, though the city light trickles in through the open window. His shoulder wound aches and itches, but that's nothing new. Same with his back. No, the novelty of this situation is on his other side, where his partner is still cuddled into his side.

He's pretty sure she offered to move in with him should he need to remain in Lucerne. It might've been the drugs affecting his recollection, but he doesn't think so. The experience with his back taught him that pain meds tend to make him morose, not optimistic.

Slowly, he starts the process of slipping out of bed. He'd like to claim that the stealth is about not waking Beckett, but that's a happy side-effect. Instead, the slow movement minimizes the pain. Incrementally, he extracts himself from Beckett and slowly turns in place to lower his feet to the floor as he levers himself up. The blood rush from his head nearly knocks him down again, but he waits until the room stops spinning before trying to stand.

"Stubborn man."

He hadn't noticed Beckett wake, arise, or move around the bed. That doesn't speak well of his operational skills right now. Still, he offers a chagrined smile as he accepts her help as he rises from the bed.

Using her own recovery experience as a guide, Beckett offers him privacy while he uses the restroom. In return, he calls her back as soon as he's done with any embarrassing bits, welcoming her presence as he stands before the sink and tends to the more mundane aspects of brushing his teeth, taming his hair, and drinking about six glasses of water.

"It doesn't go away," Beckett says quietly as she watches him in the mirror. Reaching for the bottle of lotion, she pumps a large amount into her palm before setting the bottle down. Spreading the lotion to both hands, she starts to work it into his back while keeping eye contact with him in the mirror. "The aftertaste of the pain meds. I hated it, too."

Castle nods, remaining quiet and still to soak in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Bracing his arms on the counter and lowering his head, he slowly realizes exactly how far they've come, how good it feels to have her with him. The understanding amplifies what he felt upon waking and confirms his course of action.

Any further thoughts are literally blown away. For Beckett's finished rubbing the lotion into his scarred back and is now gently blowing air across his back. Chills run up and down his spine and radiate through his arms and legs. And lest any extremity feel left out, he raises his head to look into the mirror to meet his partner's eyes as she lavishes more attention on his back. It's one of the most erotic things he's ever seen. Probably not worth incurring the scars in the first place, but close.

* * *

"What about Martha?" Beckett asks from where she's sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, the fruit plate on her lap now empty.

"Colorado Springs," Castle answers after finishing a bite of his own breakfast. "Unless they've tricked her onto a bus and pointed her toward the border."

"Seems a little extreme," Beckett laughs.

"I think they'll miss her once she's gone," he admits with a chuckle, "but I think she's been a bit of a handful. If the emails from the facility administrator are any indication."

"Really? I would've thought that your mother would've warmed up to the administrator."

"That's why he was complaining!"

* * *

"Lanie misses you," Beckett finally remembers to tell him, later in the afternoon after they've awoken from another nap.

Stretching very slowly so as to avoid pulling any stitches, Castle makes a fond rumble. "I miss her just a bit more than I miss Perlmutter."

"That's not kind," Beckett chastises, her words matched by a gentle elbow nudge to his side.

"I'm serious. You have no idea how much I look forward to seeing Perlmutter and getting a rise out of him," he chuckles, remembering some of his better shots at the curmudgeonly ME. "But Lanie's more fun to talk to and look at."

"Oh, really?"

"You can't be surprised. Would you be happier if I told you that your friend wasn't fun to look at, that I should avert my eyes?" he asks facetiously while shaking his head. "That wouldn't be very nice."

"I think the best course of action," Beckett returns a little primly, "would've been to say nothing."

"Say _nothing_?!" Castle replies. "You do know who I am, right?"

* * *

"Do you want to call your dad?"

Beckett, lowering a towel, asks him to repeat what she'd missed while rubbing her wet hair. Hearing the question again, she cocks her head and knits her brow.

"We can do that?"

"Of course," her partner replies before making a light fist and rapping himself on the head. "Sorry, I should've thought of this earlier. The pain meds make me a little loopy."

"Forgiven," Beckett replies, gently pulling his hand away and kissing where he'd knocked himself. "So, how do I reach him?"

Castle directs her to his bedside table, where yet another odd-looking communication device awaits. Receiving the phone, he talks quietly while typing in the access code. "We can bring him back as soon as you like. Just work it out with him. I'll step into the bathroom so the two of you can have some privacy."

"No," Beckett says quietly but firmly, causing Castle to pause while typing in the number to reach Jim Beckett. "I'd rather you stay. I want to tell him what happened – all of it. I'd like you to be here."

"Need someone nearby to take the blame?" he jokes, trying to hide the effect her request had on him.

Taking some pity on her partner, she decides to play along. Though she can still play with him a little.

"You know very well my father likes you and will be happy to hear how well things went, all things considered," Beckett replies. "He'll be your biggest fan. At least unless I tell him what you did to his baby girl in this hotel room…"

* * *

"I've never spent this many consecutive hours in a bed," Castle sighs, tired of immobility (even with the abundant distractions at hand).

"Really? I bet Page Six would be disappointed to hear that."

"I'm just talking about the bed," Castle replies after huffing a laugh. "Nothing wrong with staying in it, but it can be a little… _limiting_."

"Sounds like something we should test once you're hale and hearty again," Beckett whispers in his ear, prompting a low hum of agreement. "As for me, this isn't a record-setter."

"Oh, really?" Castle nearly growls in reply. "Do tell."

Shifting in bed a bit to get a little more comfortable, Beckett pauses a moment to collect her memories before dropping into the same tone Castle often uses to tell stories.

"We haven't talked much about my year at Stanford," she begins hesitantly. Castle's indrawn breath and the arm he tightens around her instantly convey his agreement and interest in the topic. "It was hard to fit in at first. Palo Alto was so different from Manhattan, and as much as I thought coming from a cosmopolitan city would help, I was in over my head. The worst, though, was that my RA saw through my act and recognized my discomfort. She suggested joining some clubs as a way to integrate faster."

Anxious to hear more about a young Kate Beckett, Castle restrains himself from interrupting but cuddles in a bit closer.

"I surprised everyone when I turned up for volleyball try-outs. I'd played a bit at Stuyvesant, but not a lot. Certainly not enough to challenge the gifted scholarship players. You think I'm tall and athletic? I had nothing on those women. Still, I managed to make the practice squad. And, after a long, bruising semester, there was the chance of rotating in during games where we were well ahead."

"You should've seen us, Castle," Beckett continues, voice lost in reminiscence. "Eighteen women, each taller, leggier, and more athletic than the next. And our uniforms, especially the shorts… let's just say they helped encourage attendance at our matches."

"I can imagine."

"From the tone of your voice, I'm sure you can," she chuckles in response. "Now, try to imagine this: we're all on a bus, heading toward a high school tournament in Lake Tahoe to help coach and work with the girls there the weekend after finals, before heading home for Christmas. A snowstorm in the mountains cancelled the tournament, but, since we weren't a competing team, they forgot to notify us. We barely made it into town, the bus slipping and sliding the whole way. We made it about two steps into the crappy hotel before the power went out. So, what was a group of young, nubile women to do to keep warm? Aside from the rotation we worked out to keep the coaches occupied and distracted, the rest of the time was spent in bed and keeping ourselves _*hot*_."

After Castle's inarticulate gurgle, she laughs again and brings the conversation full circle. "So, no, this isn't the most time I've spent in bed in one go. But, perhaps if you act on those thoughts racing through your head, it could be the most satisfying?"

* * *

"I'm not sure I'm ready for our quiet time to end," Beckett admits in the stillness of the pre-dawn morning. "I suppose I'll wake up tomorrow morning and you'll be gone?"

After releasing a sigh that confirms his concerns about what he has to face, Castle shakes his head slowly. "Later today, actually. Easier to slip away unnoticed in the afternoon rush. Plus, I still need to see Steph for my check-up before I take off."

"How long do you think it'll take before you know what'll happen next?"

"Well, some of what happens next is already set. As for Alexis, it'll take me two days to get to her, then it'll depend on how she'd like to handle things. I'll leave you my device so we can talk."

"Okay," Beckett nods, still disappointed in their looming separation but happy he's anticipated a way for them to stay in contact. As much as she'd like to be part of his trip, it's better that he work things out with Alexis on his own before Beckett enters the frame. Plus, she's got things to run down here. Maybe more than she thought…

"What do you mean, 'some of what happens next is already set?' You holding out on me, partner?"

"Absolutely," Castle confirms with a small, maddening grin. "And there's nothing you can do to make me confess."

"I don't know, Castle, I'm a pretty good interrogator."

"Really?" he asks in cheeky disbelief. "Never heard about that. You'd think, after spending a few years at the precinct, I would've seen some evidence of your skills."

"Trust me, Castle," she replies in a sultry voice, sitting up and kicking a leg over him so that she straddles his waist. "The people at the precinct have never seen my most effective skills."

"Bravado," Castle bravely dismisses. "Perhaps they've never seen them because they don't exist?"

"You show a stunning lack of imagination for a writer, lack of faith for a believer," she chastises as she lets a lazy finger draw whorls across the skin of his chest and lower. "With your shoulder out of commission, I'm afraid some of my techniques aren't available to us now. But I don't need 'em to break you."

"More bravado," Castle replies, his brave words belied by his low, gravelly voice and the gulp that preceded them.

"Lay back and be still, Castle. I'm going to make you _sing_."

* * *

"Ready for your sponge bath?"

"Beckett, if I ever offer anything besides an enthusiastic, affirmative response to that question, shoot me. I'll probably already be dead, but shoot me anyway, just to make sure."

"So, is that a yes?"

* * *

"Let me help."

Worried that her partner's difficulty in buttoning his shirt shows that he's clearly not ready for his next adventure, Beckett bites back those thoughts and slowly does up his buttons. She'd delay, or maybe even reverse course, but she knows the timing is delicate. He needs to get moving and she needs to return to her responsibilities as well.

For his part, Castle stands quiet and placid, apparently drawing strength before his departure. His compliance is the best sign of his anxiety.

"There," Beckett says gamely before walking behind him and holding his blazer. Helping him slip his arms into the sleeves, she rounds to his front and gently pulls on the lapels to get the jacket into place.

"Role reversal," he says quietly. "I remember when I helped you don your coats. I look forward to doing it again."

"Soon," she answers thickly, lifting her chin to drop a kiss on his cheek. "Now," she says a little more firmly, "no sappy goodbye scenes. You need to get moving or your doctor will kick my ass."

"Only once she's finished with mine," he agrees with a smile. Then, bracing himself, he looks around the room one more time to commit it to memory. Needless to say, he's enjoyed their time here. Others might think his hotel memories are tawdry, but they both know that the intimacies they've shared here go far beyond a simple (though divine) physical connection.

Shaking his head to refocus, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket and extracts his communication device, which he hands to Beckett. "Same combination as before, your badge number twice."

She accepts the device and lets a thumb rub across the top. As much as she's glad to have the means to communicate, it still feels like they're moving backwards. Plus, she knows things are never this easy with Castle. There's got to be a curveball, whether it's one thrown by him or karma bending one his way.

"Hey," he interjects quietly, a gentle finger beneath her chin lifting her face so they can look each other in the eye. "Just for this trip. We'll be back together soon. I'll work things out with Alexis while you get your dad resettled. And tend to your other projects."

"What other projects?" Beckett asks with a perched brow, recognizing the curveball already.

"Use that to contact my attorney. No, not Samuelson," he laughs, recognizing Beckett's look of consternation following her earlier interactions with that lawyer. "This guy's name is Tom Rutkowski. He's got some things for you to review if you have time before my return."

"Any hints?"

"Fun stuff," he assures her. "At least I think so."

"'Cause that's not ominous at all," she teases, pulling laughs from both of them. "Now, you need to scoot. Let's make sure you don't forget me while you're gone," she whispers as she reels him in and lays a blistering kiss on his lips. The hunger in his eyes when the break apart reveals the success of her plan.

Mindful of the time, Castle slowly wraps his arms around her, mindful of aggravating his shoulder injury. Resting his forehead against hers, he takes a quiet moment to create another memory to get him through his upcoming travels. Speaking of memories…

"Beckett?"

"Yeah?"

"You never played volleyball, did you?"

"We went to a game once. Does that count?"

"Bless you."

"Tell you what. You hurry back and I'll have the uniform ready for your arrival."

* * *

"Detective Beckett, a pleasure to meet you!"

While shaking her hand, Rutkowski pulls gently to guide her into his office. Leading her towards his desk, he releases her hand in order to scoop up a pile of manila folders and a poster tube. Beckett stifles a chuckle as the young attorney's excitement prompts him to bobble his load, folders and tube jostling precariously in his grasp. Stepping forward quickly to help the young man secure his cargo, she receives a beaming smile of thanks. Then, with a nod towards a side door, Rutkowski nearly skips as he leads Beckett out of his office and down an interior hallway.

Neither he nor his office is at all what she expected. Castle, after all, knows many people and commands a certain level of service from those who provide him with editing, promotional, or legal assistance. Plus, Samuelson was ruthlessly competent and boasted an office that's opulent in the way she'd expect her own would have been had she followed her earlier educational path and pursued corporate law. Rutkowski's office, on the other hand, is a rental from a temporary office leasing firm. He must either be an old friend of Castle's, or maybe Rick is looking to help a new attorney get his bearings in private practice.

"So," Rutkowski beams excitedly as he dumps his load a little too exuberantly on a folding card table that serves as a conference room setup. Barely stopping the folders from sliding off the edge, he blushes while he looks quickly at Beckett before straightening up his piles. "Rick's got me running a few projects for him," he explains as he swells slightly with pride, "and he thought you might like to help."

"I'm happy to take a look," Becket offers gently, worried that too boisterous a response on her part might send Rutkowski into potentially fatal paroxysms of delight.

"Excellent!" the young attorney beams, again knocking down the pile of folders with his giddy handclap. "Where would you like to start?"

"Castle's teased me by not letting me know what you're working on," she explains with what's meant to be a frown, though a grin still slips through. "So, why don't we start with whatever's in the poster tube so we can clear the table afterward?"

Chagrined but still smiling, Rutkowski sweeps the folders from the table and onto a folding chair before opening the tube and extracting a set of blueprints. Unrolling them across the table, he spends a comically long amount of time failing at keeping the prints from rolling up again. Meaning to take pity on the poor guy, Beckett extracts the handcuffs from her belt. Rutkowski suddenly looks concerned, raising his hands in supplication. His motion causes the prints to roll into a cylinder again, setting them back further. Shaking her head, she unrolls the plans and uses the cuffs to anchor one corner.

"Do you have anything else we could use? I'd rather not pull my service weapon," she explains, biting back the smile at the thought of Rutkowski fainting had that happened.

Finally, with the aid of a stapler, a doorstop, and a can of Diet Coke (and after nixing the offer of his shoe), the four corners are finally secured and Beckett allows herself to view the plan. To say she's surprised is a bit of an understatement.

"Are these the plans to his new beach house?" she asks, letting a finger trace the outline of house even more beautiful than its predecessor."

"Yes," Rutkowski chirps happily while coming around the table to stand next to her. "Rick wanted to make sure you approved of the designs. This one on top," he says while pointing, inadvertently knocking over the can of soda, "is his favorite, but the other three options are further down the pile. And if you don't like any of them or want to make some changes, we can meet with the architects."

Whatever she expected, it wasn't this. Castle's inviting her to help design a house for the Hamptons? She's never had to worry about more than a one-bedroom apartment! And that doesn't even get into the deeper connotations of him offering her the opportunity to make sure the beach house is somewhere she'd feel comfortable. It might not be hearts and flowers, but the intent behind this offer is obvious.

Her partner, she realizes once again, really is a clever guy. He didn't take her on a hot air balloon ride and ply her with champagne, he didn't get down on one knee in public or in front of her work colleagues, he didn't do anything that might trip any latent insecurities on her part. He simply offered her the opportunity to craft a part of their future that would be welcoming to them both. The magnitude of the gesture, and the fact that it hasn't caused her to backtrack in fear, is amazing.

"Can I take these home?" she asks quietly, finger still tracing over the design.

"Of course! Rick thought you might want to take some time with these," he confides, head bobbing. "I'll just roll them up again," he offers as he tugs the plans and tumbles the stapler and doorstop onto the floor. Then, after managing to get them back into the tube, he culls out one of the folders and sets it on a different folding chair along with the tube. "The folder has some notes on amenities they hope to include in the new house, along with some guides from the architects about styles, options, and general timelines."

"Thank you," Beckett replies before giving her head a little shake to get recentered. "Right. Moving on. Let's do this. Why don't you tell me what the other projects are, then we'll figure out how to move on from there."

"Sure!" the unflappable young man replies happily, turning back to the folders. "There's just three left, and only one of them is as big as the beach house. This one," he says while pulling a folder to the top, "has the details of his new condo. We've already closed and have the builders engaged, but he wanted to see if you had any thoughts or ideas."

Another anxiety addressed. She'd worried about where Castle might go now that the future looks unencumbered and was worried that without the loft of the Haunt, he might permanently relocate to the Hamptons. But it looks like he's already secured someplace in Manhattan, too. It makes sense, with Alexis (hopefully) and Martha (probably) needing a place for a bit, but it's still welcomed news.

"Back in Soho?" she asks while flipping through papers in the folder.

"No," Rutkowski replies, "but not too far. He lucked into a top-floor place in a small building a stone's throw from the High Line. The old Meatpacking District, I think, but pretty posh."

Says the attorney wearing sneakers and a knit tie, Beckett notes. No wonder Rutkowski is so zealous in acting on Castle's behalf.

"From one loft to another," Beckett agrees to keep things moving along. "What's next?"

"Well, you'll have to take this folder home with you, too, since it also involves your father. Rick said he was working on a project for him, something about contracts?" he asks, fishing for information from Beckett.

"Castle had dad working on something for him, but I'll confess that I don't know specifics," she admits and is surprised that she'd overlooked this detail. Honestly, she'd wondered if the work Castle had for her father was nothing other than busywork to get him out of the city until it was safe to return.

"Looks like some investment stuff," Rutkowski replies while flipping through the papers in the file, many of which are spreadsheets. "Why don't we set this one aside and let your dad take it from here?"

"Sounds like a plan," Beckett agrees. It's just one more reason to be anxious to see her father when he returns in two days. "That just leaves one project, but you've still got a bunch of folders there…"

"Yeah," Rutkowski replies, blushing slightly while he rubs the back of his neck. "I'd really like to help here, but this stuff is kinda out of my wheelhouse, aside from the contracts," he admits. Then, after a fortifying breath, he reaches for the remaining folders and starts identifying them as he stacks them. "Florist. Caterer. Venue. Photographers. Musicians. Guest list. Travel arrangements."

Okay, maybe Castle isn't so clever. The beach house might not have set her off, but if he left a stack of wedding planning materials without even proposing…

Wait a minute, there's no way Castle would do that, Beckett realizes. Not the old Castle, and not the craftier incarnation born while she was away recuperating. That must mean these materials are for…

"The Ryan wedding?" she asks, getting another round of bobbing nods from Rutkowski. "Castle wants me to plan a wedding?!"

"It's mostly planned already," Rutkowski jumps in. "After their time away, they need to… uh… make sure the wedding happens while the bride can still fit in her dress," he explains while a radiant blush blossoms on his cheeks and neck.

Well, Beckett realizes with a smile, sounds like Kevin and Jenny found a way to keep busy while they were away from the city. Lanie will be so happy to have a young one to spoil and dote upon.

"So, the plans are set?" she asks, watching him nod yet again. "When's the wedding?"

"Three weeks," he replies with a flinch. "Invitations go out as soon as you review the guest list and identify anyone you think should be added for Mister Ryan's career considerations."

"That's not much time," Beckett states the obvious. "I'll look at the list today and get back to you with any additions. Or should I just call Kev?"

"You can call Mister Ryan or the wedding coordinator – her contact information is in the top folder," he explains while sorting the blazingly labeled "MASTER" folder to the top. "Everything you need is in there, including…," here Rutkowski blushes again, "… a request from Rick."

With that, Rutkowksi offers to pop down the hallway to get a bag so she can carry all the folders. Before he's even left the room, Beckett's opened the master folder in search of the familiar dove grey envelope.

She's only a little disappointed this one's not hand written, but it looks like Castle must've texted his message to Rutkowski to have it printed and ready for her arrival.

 _Beckett,_

 _Help! You're my partner, right? You've got the training, experience, and instincts to protect and serve. And I definitely need your protection._

 _As you've heard, the Ryan wedding is a go and on an abbreviated schedule. Even with a friend coordinating, it will be a challenge to ensure that our friends have the wedding they deserve. I feel a bit of personal responsibility here, too, since Kevin refused most of the money I offered for his time away, taking only what he needed to replace his leave time. But he and Jenny grudgingly accepted help with their wedding. (And honeymoon, though they don't know about that part yet.)_

 _As for Espo and his role, we've reached an alternative arrangement, but more on that later._

 _So, what do I need from you? I'm hoping for two things:_

 _Will you please take a look at the wedding plans? Everything should be well in hand, but you've always had an uncanny ability to identify problems and solutions at only a glance. Anything you can or want to do would be a big help. And while I hope to be back in time to join these efforts, that depends on how things go with Alexis._

 _Will you please attend the wedding with me? It's been years since our last dance together and I would very much like to hold you in my arms again._

 _I'm going to assume you're on board with the first request, but I'm going to hope you'll accede to the second one, too? I'll reach out once I've reached my destination and you can let me know. If you are unable to be my 'plus-one' can you at least help me come up with a way to protect me from Victoria's invitation?_

 _Love, Castle_

 _[Insert funny symbol here]_

* * *

Taking another glance at her watch, Beckett releases a long sigh. Castle and Alexis are cutting it close. It's been three weeks since she's seen him, though they've spoken frequently. Now, they're racing home from Lucerne to attend the Ryan wedding. And while Beckett's thrilled to not be a bridesmaid this time around, she's more excited to see her partner again. She knows he's in town – he called her from the hotel into which he and Alexis have moved while awaiting the completion of the construction work on Castle's new condo. But, even though she's not a member of the wedding party, she was called upon to help Jenny stay calm and to keep Lanie under control in the pre-ceremony scramble.

The wedding's not due to start for another hour, but Castle had thought they'd be here by now. And, oddly, she might not be the one who's most anxious to see her wayward partner. No, that distinction doesn't go to Captain Gates, regardless of Castle's ridiculous note about the wedding. Instead, it's Ryan who looks uncharacteristically nervous and could use some encouragement. Needless to say, his commitment-phobe partner Esposito is hardly the right one to calm his pre-ceremony jitters.

The low rumble of a high-performance engine pulling up in front of the church breaks Beckett from her ruminations. She's unaccountably happy to see the cherry-red Ferrari prowl to a stop in front of the valet station. (A valet station at a Catholic church! That wedding coordinator thought of everything.) She'd thought the car was lost like the beach house, but Castle must've taken steps to protect it in the midst of all his other planning. Ready to see her partner again, Beckett descends the stone steps to meet him at the curb.

But it's not Castle who emerges from the vehicle. Instead, looking dapper in his best man's tuxedo, Esposito steps out and speaks briefly speaks with the valet. From the spotty young man's paling face and bulging eyes, she'd guess that Espo just described what would happen to him should anything happen to the precious car. She hopes he didn't flash his weapon, though he'd hardly be the only one attending this wedding while armed.

"Nice wheels," Beckett offers as Espo saunters towards her.

Stopping in front of his colleague and pausing while taking off his mirrored sunglasses, Espo's all smiles. "Castle's alright. For Ryan, he helps him get shackled to Jenny in style," he says with an expansive sweep of his arm that takes in the church and arriving guests. "But for _me_ , he gives me somethin' to help me with _all_ the ladies."

So, this must be the alternate arrangement Castle reached with Espo as a way to thank him for his assistance. A sports car and, in all likelihood considering the dumpy neighborhood in which Espo lives, a place to part it. Not a bad deal.

"From an invitation to meet the parents to out the door in 3.2 seconds?" she asks facetiously.

"Exactly! No chica can keep up with me in this machine."

"Charming. I'm sure your 'chicas' appreciate hearing you talk about it that way, too."

"Lanie didn't seem to mind when she helped me christen it."

"That's something I really didn't want or need to know," Beckett replies with a scrunched nose. "And probably not a good thought for the steps of a church. Though the confessional booths are probably open."

"Nah, I'd just have to come back later tonight," Espo fires back with an eyebrow waggle. "Now, where's my boy? Knowin' him, he probably needs backup by now."

Privately wondering if Espo's advice is the kind that Ryan needs right now, she provides directions to the vestibule in which the groom is likely pacing. Shaking off an offer to enter with him, Beckett resumes her vigil as she awaits her partner's arrival. Castle had mentioned a surprise for his arrival, but she doesn't think he was talking about the Ferrari. Frankly, she's a little worried about the surprise – given everything that's happened in the last few months, she's grown a little weary and wary of unexpected developments.

That's got to be him, she thinks as a black car-service sedan makes a U-turn and stops in front of the steps to the church. Sure enough, Castle is the first one out of the car, though he exited from the front passenger seat. Sending her a blinding smile, he lifts one finger to ask for a moment while he opens the car's rear door and holds out a hand to help Alexis from the car. She looks beautiful – older already than Beckett recalls, more sophisticated. Her green dress looks gorgeous and plays well with her complexion. Her hair has been done up in elaborate braids and her jewelry accentuates without ostentation.

Rather than approach, however, Alexis stands to the side while Castle helps another passenger out of the car. A sandy-haired young man with dark eyes emerges. Not quite as tall as Castle, the young man looks dapper in a smart suit and tie with threading that matches Alexis' dress. Suddenly, Alexis' reluctance to return to New York looks like it might have a different reason than Castle expected.

"Kate," Castle says gently as he approaches and wraps her is a gentle embrace. "It's so good to see you again."

"Welcome home, Castle," she whispers into the crook of his neck. She holds their hug long enough to let him know she's glad he's back, though social conventions require that she break away for introductions.

"Alexis, it's so good to see you again," Beckett offers warmly, curious and a little wary of the young woman's response, which might range anywhere from genuine delight to cold indifference. It's been a long time since they've spoken, with many intervening, life-threatening events in the interim.

"It's good to see you again, Kate," Alexis replies before emulating her father and embracing the detective. "Thank you for coming back," she whispers to the older woman. "And thank-you for helping him."

"Of course," Beckett replies, thrilled with this reception. "Now, why don't you introduce me?"

Pulling back, Alexis reaches out for her friend. "Detective Kate Beckett, please meet Andras Klein, my dearest friend from school. Andras, Kate is my father's partner, the youngest woman to make detective at the NYPD, and the inspiration for my father's Heat books."

"Mademoiselle," Andras offers while lifting Beckett's hand and kissing her knuckles. It's a very refined and courtly gesture that will be even more effective when he can master his nerves and keep the warble from his voice.

Looking at his watch, Castle gestures towards the church and prompts the group into moving along. Once they reach the doors, he delivers Alexis and Andras to an usher and asks them to hold seats while he and Beckett visit the wedding party.

But before she can return to help Jenny, Castle pulls her into a hug after shuffling her over to an out-of-the way alcove. "Castle, we need to…"

"I know," he assures her. "I'll go counteract Espo's terrible advice in a few minutes. I just need a little time with you."

"Missed me, eh?" Beckett replies as she cuddles into him. "I don't suppose this has anything to do with your daughter bringing a date to the wedding and worrying about what's to come?"

"Don't tease," Castle pouts as he holds her tight, still being careful not to mess her hair though he'd love to nuzzle in. "I did miss you. But Alexis is freaking me out a little. As you've already figured out, I wasn't quite right about why she sounded like she wanted to stay in Lucerne. After everything we went through to keep her safe, I might be losing her in a way I didn't expect. Which is stupid, of course. Everything I did was to ensure she'd have the chance to do things like this."

"It's not stupid," Beckett replies while lifting a hand to rub his chest. "It's exactly the kind of thing you should be worrying about. It might not feel like it, but this is the happy ending you fought for, right? Regular concerns like college applications, boyfriends, living arrangements – all the mundane and wonderful aspects of a good life. Isn't this how you would've written it? The faceless enemy vanquished, the victims avenged, and the hero celebrating life by attending a new union…"

"Heroes," Castle interjects. "You were there, too. And you're here with me now," he says in wonder as she nods against him. "So, if celebrating is part of our reward, we'd better get to it, right?"

"Right," she agrees reluctantly before pulling away from him. When she does, she catches the eye of a little old lady who's awaiting the services of an usher. The lady offers a wink and a cackle before caning her way down the aisle to a waiting seat on the bride's side. There's something about a wedding that makes everyone a romantic. But, given how things have turned out, she's not going to complain. In fact, embracing the spirit sounds like a damn fine idea.

"Go rescue Kevin," Beckett suggests. "I'm looking forward to dancing with you, so we need to make sure Espo's advice doesn't torpedo the wedding."

* * *

"You have learned well from your mother," Beckett offers quietly hours later when she and Castle are returning to the dance floor. The wedding was beautiful, the most touching ceremony she can recall. And the reception has been a perfect complement, the warm, inviting chaos of an exuberant party to match the serene, sedate wedding mass. Both Kevin and Jenny have large families in attendance and both sides have worked hard to welcome each other and the guests. Espo and Castle helped set the tone with their speeches. They played against type to great effect; Espo led with a humorous, borderline inappropriate best man's speech that had the audience alternately laughing and blushing. Then, after a few other people took their turns with the microphone, Castle provided a short speech that ruminated on love, provided some insight into the new couple, and ended with a blessing. There weren't many dry eyes when he reclaimed his seat at their table, though Beckett suspected that she and Alexis fought tears of pride rather than sentimentality.

And then they danced. Sure, there was food, drinks, and good conversation, but it was the dancing that she'll most remember. Whether slow or fast, refined or loose, they kicked and twirled together as if they'd been doing it for years. And, in a way, they had. But their turns on the dance floor showed everyone else how in-sync they were. It was something Andras mentioned to her while Castle was taking a turn with his daughter.

But while their comfort with each other was obvious to all in attendance, only Beckett knew Castle well enough to pick up on the merest hint of disquiet. After considering how far they'd come, how much they'd invested and worked to reach this point, she decided to ask him about it, even at the risk of marring their evening.

"She'll appreciate hearing that the dance lessons she forced on me were appreciated," he laughs in reply before twirling Beckett again.

"I'm not talking about dancing," Beckett replies as she pulls him close, moving from coordinated dance steps to the more common 'sway-in-place' style of dance, "I'm talking about acting. Want to tell me what's bothering you?"

Castle sways in place for several long moments while mulling a reply. He can't really be surprised she's seen through him, but he's worried about how to proceed. "I don't want to ruin our evening, Kate. There'll be plenty of time to worry about this another day."

"Except it's bothering you now," she gently replies. "Rick, I've had a wonderful day with you and nothing will ruin that. We can talk about it here if you like, or we can go home and talk about it away from the reception if you'd like some separation. But we've worked too hard to let quiet troubles undermine our gains."

Again, Castle sways a bit before answering. "I like the reference to 'home,' even if we don't quite have one yet. But maybe we should talk here before we head back to our suite at the Plaza, where I'm hoping you'll join me?"

"Of course," Beckett replies. "I was hoping you'd ask. I've even got a bag here at the coat check with a change of clothes."

"So bold," Castle laughs. "Okay, let's talk here so we don't rain on Alexis and Andras' night. I've just been mulling over what you said earlier and I don't like where those thoughts are leading."

"What did I say?" Beckett wonders aloud, trying to recall what she'd said earlier that's got Castle in a tailspin.

"About our happy ending," he says with a nod to their surroundings, "about how this is the way I'd write it. That's the thing," he confesses, "this _isn't_ the way I'd write it."

She knows she should be happy that he's thinking about writing at all. After everything that's happened since Bracken moved against Montgomery, she doubts Castle has written a word that wasn't related to his plan for justice. But now she's feeling uneasy, too. She remembers well how often their brainstorming in front of the murder board included pulling threads that unraveled stories and identified gaps in their investigation.

"How would you write it?"

"It's too pat," Castle answers quietly. "Too easy. We never really saw the ending, did we? We had our hands full with Bracken, then with getting me to the hospital, then with getting you to cover. How do we know what really happened?"

Damn it. These are thoughts she doesn't want to entertain. This is supposed to be *over.*

"I see where you're going," she acknowledges quietly. "We have a conspiracy that lasted more than a decade, players who stretched from the DA's office to the NYPD to the halls of Congress to wherever Bracken's master was hiding, and a team of highly-trained operatives who adopted you and made inconveniences like the death of a senator in custody disappear without any outcry before fading into the ether themselves. It does seem a little ephemeral. So, what next – we start dredging the river to find the chopper and the bodies?"

The music has ended but their conversation has not, so they continue to sway together on the dance floor. Others that have held on for the end of the reception send them indulgent and sometimes envious looks, all expecting that it's romance that has them still on the floor. The band indulges them and announces one last song.

"You want to know what really bothers me?" he asks once the sounds of music again provide cover for his quiet words. "Why do we assume there would be multiple bodies?"

Beckett mulls his question quietly before turning to him to prompt his theory.

"If I were writing this, if there was a body to be found, it would only be the pilot. If I were writing this, there would've only been one other person in the chopper – Jackson."

"But what about Bracken's master?" Beckett asks before the horror of Castle's meandering thoughts starts to bloom on her face. Sadly, Castle's next words confirm his theory.

"We never saw the man who was pulling Bracken's strings. Who found me when I was looking for the man behind our misery? Who was it that identified Bracken's master? Who was it who set the trap for him? Who was it who was able to single-handedly apprehend Zoltick, the money man behind Bracken's operation? Who was the only one who supposedly saw the big bad guy in the chopper?" Castle cringes as the questions end and he turns toward a terrible potential answer.

"Jackson. At every step, it was Jackson. If I were writing this story, _he'd_ be the big bad guy. And in that tale, the only thing our adventures and pain and suffering would've provided was a way for Jackson to eliminate his protégé, retire his identity as Bracken's boss, and walk away free and clear."

* * *

Blessedly, Alexis and Andras seem to be so wrapped up in each other that they've failed to notice any preoccupation during the trip from the reception to the Plaza. Castle and Beckett stay in the lounge area long enough to supervise the young couple's chaste goodnight kiss and their retreat to their individual rooms. Obviously trying to capture a sense of playfulness and put their gloom behind them, Castle holds up a finger to gesture for quiet before reaching into a bag on the nearby sofa and extracting two seasonal jingle bell bracelets. Quietly slipping one on the knob of each teen's door, he smiles at his late-night solo sleeping insurance measures.

"A little hypocritical, don't you think?" Beckett asks while rolling her eyes.

"Of course," Castle replies with a shrug. "But it's a parent's prerogative to fight the tide. Besides, if two brilliant teens attending a Brainiac boarding school can't defeat a few jingle bells, they don't deserve any amorous activities."

"So, if getting past the jingle bells allows a little kissing, what have our travails earned us?"

"Why don't you follow me and find out?" Castle asks with a voice suddenly two octaves lower. "As much as I've missed you these last three weeks, there was one silver lining to being apart."

"Oh?"

"My shoulder's much stronger," he brags slightly while windmilling his arm slowly. "Might open up the playbook a bit…"

"Nothing _too_ adventurous," Beckett teases as she starts following him into the master bedroom of the suite. "There's no way your shoulder is fully healed. Besides, while you've got fantastic accommodations, I doubt the walls are sound-proof," she reminds him as she turns to close the door behind them. The heavy thunk of the closing deadbolt accentuates her words and accentuates the feeling of locking them away.

Surprised by Castle's lack of a reply, she turns to see him turning stock still. Had he been looking at her, it would've been flattering. But, instead, he's staring at the bed. No, not at the bed. At the pillows. Or, more particularly, the dove gray envelope resting on top, awaiting their arrival.

After turning to share a quick look during which they confirm that neither of them left the envelope, Castle slowly walks to the head of the bed. Moving the pillows carefully and peeking to ensure there was nothing else hidden, he drops to his knees and peers beneath the bed before standing again and slowly reaching for the envelope.

Looking again at Beckett to see if she'll suggest waiting to open the envelope or calling for the CSU team, he instead receives a nod. They both suspect who left the note and how unlikely it would be that any evidence would be left within. Returning the nod, Castle flips the envelope over before decisively sliding a finger beneath the edge, opening the envelope, and extracting the letter within. After pressing out the creases, Castle turns and holds the missive where both he and his partner can read it together.

 _Son,_

 _It's good to see you aren't an idiot. You're the only one besides Lynch who figured out what was going on. With more training and experience, you might become a competent operative._

 _One of the skills you still need to learn: when to walk away. This op is done. The people you sought will not be seen again. Learn to take it as a win and move on. Worrying over loose ends will not end well._

 _Now it's time for you to stand down and get right. When you're healed and my granddaughter is protected, I'll contact you about furthering your education._

 _Do not look for me before then._

 _Whether you include your detective or not is up to you. But she's your responsibility. It would be unfortunate if she were to be caught in the crosshairs again._

 _Dad_

 _I originally thought these notes of yours were a sad indulgence, but I enjoyed writing this one. I like the farewell symbol, too. I think I'll be making use of that._

* * *

A/N: And, done! Nice to finish on a definitive upnote, right? There are many different paths for the story to take from here, so I think I'll leave that to your imaginations.

This story took much longer to complete than I expected, so many thanks for hanging on until the end. It stayed pretty true to where I wanted it to go, though the long delays between some chapters meant that I spent more time that I'd like rereading earlier chapters to provide some consistency through the story.

As for what's next: when I started writing fanfic, I had a goal of a million words (yeah, I know that's just a few stories for some of my friends). I'm closing in on that goal, but I'm also finding it more and more difficult to set aside writing time. I've still got ideas (the third in the Season 4 trilogy, my long-neglected Halloween story, and a few others). The uptick in my professional responsibilities has me wary of longer stories, though, or of starting to post before I've got a fair bit written.

So, I think the next story will be a bit of a deviation from my norm. It'll be short (probably on the order of _Goddess_ or _Overshot_ ), but with a dissimilar tone. In different ways, it draws some inspiration from Muse of Apollo and Madcrafter72. I've got it outlined, but probably won't post until the whole thing is written, assuming I can get to it.

And now, finally, an apology: my count of unread chapters for which I've got email notifications just reached triple digits. Pathetic, I know. So some writing time will have to support reading, too.


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